


Caffrey Disclosure

by penna_nomen



Series: Caffrey Conversation [7]
Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Family, Father's Day, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Humor, Music, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 243,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penna_nomen/pseuds/penna_nomen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cases: While Peter tries to keep Neal out of the hunt for a dangerous fugitive, Neal wraps up a long con on a corrupt music industry executive. </p>
<p>Angst: Neal worries about disclosing more secrets to Peter. Two of Neal's friends disappear - are they hiding, or were they kidnapped by the fugitive?<br/>Fluff: Neal undercover as a rock star with Mozzie as his agent. A con with Sara on the Fourth of July. Caffrey family reunion.<br/>Other: Father’s Day with Peter. Romance continues between Neal’s aunt & Peter’s brother. Neal’s birth certificate holds a surprise. Diana joins the team.<br/>June - August 2004 in the CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him<br/>Setting: NYC, Austin, Seattle, Las Vegas, Atlantic City, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington D.C.<br/>Characters: Neal, Peter, Hughes, Jones, Diana, Mozzie, Sara, June, Neal's grandparents & aunts & uncle & cousins</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Although this story is part of a series, it can stand on its own. The first chapters will catch you up with Neal and his circumstances, and then the action starts. Within the series, this story follows Caffrey Flashback and Complications, and comes before The Golden Hen. In Flashback, Neal dealt with repressed memories of childhood abuse and depended on Peter and members of the Caffrey family to come to his rescue. In this story, Neal is stronger. He’s ready to come to the rescue of others and to be the hero rather than the victim. He’s also moving toward more of an adult son to father relationship with Peter. Progressing there from his child-like hero worship may involve some moments of teenage rebellion, but in the end their relationship will be stronger and more sustainable. 
> 
> In prior stories I’ve lifted character names from Jane Austen novels. This time, I’ll also be pulling from Casablanca. In the first chapter end notes, I’ll maintain a character list. You can always refer back to the end notes to refresh your memory about who’s who.
> 
> Spoilers for the first 4 seasons of White Collar.
> 
> White Collar and its characters are not mine, alas.

**Brooklyn, Burke residence. Tuesday evening. June 15, 2004.**

For once everyone in the White Collar team – even Peter – had left work early in order to attend a party at the Burkes’ home. The weather had cooperated, allowing them to leave the front and back doors wide open to a sunny, mild evening. There was just enough breeze to keep the bugs away as Peter manned the grill on the back porch. Elizabeth was in the kitchen, handing out beers and pouring sangria and laughing with Peter’s second-in-command, Agent Tricia Wiese. More agents and their significant others had settled on chairs or on the front stoop to chat.

When he first joined the team, Neal Caffrey felt like the odd man out. Peter had warned him it wouldn’t be easy, and there had certainly been ups and downs, but six months into working for the Bureau, Neal had to admit that Peter’s instincts had been right: Neal did have a talent for this work, and he did enjoy it.

Satchmo, the Burkes’ yellow Labrador, wandered from guest to guest, making friends. But he always seemed to gravitate back to Neal, as if the animal sensed Neal was part of the family. Back in December, when Neal decided to help Peter capture a violent criminal and Peter in turn decided to recruit Neal, a feverish Neal had jokingly called the agent _Dad_. He truly did think of Peter as a father figure now, and Peter acknowledged the sentiment by calling Neal _Son_ on occasion.

On a day like today it was easy to focus on the positive aspects of his life. For the next few hours, he didn’t have to worry about how June was adjusting to life following Byron’s death. He didn’t have to think about how the man who wanted him dead was evading capture. He didn’t have to think about Henry, a loose cannon who was likely getting in trouble that would involve Neal eventually. He didn’t have to figure out how on earth he was going to –

Peter’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Neal, I’m running out of supplies here.” Peter gestured toward the empty platter beside him. All of the burgers, drumsticks and brats were either on the grill or on guests’ plates.

“I got it.” Neal swung in to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator for the next platter. With the speed and dexterity of a cat burglar, he had the new platter at Peter’s side in moments without bumping into anyone. Then he handed two hot-off-the grill burgers to agents and directed them to the condiments. “How’s it going out here?” he asked Peter.

Their host paused in moving the meat to the grill. “Why? Is anything wrong? We didn’t run out of beer, did we? I wasn’t sure if the team would go for that other stuff.”

Elizabeth had been wise to put Peter in charge of the grill, where he’d be busy and forced to interact with guests. Otherwise he’d obsess about his team invading his home. Obviously the party had been Elizabeth’s idea, and Peter was going along with it. This evening’s gathering was a trial run for the newly formed Burke Premiere Events. Several of the appetizers were from caterers under consideration for upcoming events. “Everything’s fine,” Neal said, “but I think you have a remodeling project in your future. Elizabeth and Tricia are talking about updating the kitchen. Last I heard, they thought the wall between the kitchen and dining room should come down.”

Peter finished putting hamburger patties on the grill and studied the wall. “I could see that. Fortunately we have construction experts and architects in the Burke family.” Then he glanced around at the guests. “El has been talking about throwing this party since New Year’s. She said she wanted to meet the team. Are they behaving themselves?”

Before Neal could reassure Peter, Hughes stepped to the doorway and said, “Everyone, if I could have your attention for a moment.” People shushed one another and conversations died down. “It was exactly six months ago today that Peter took the lead of the White Collar Division. We’ve had some big wins, and faced some challenges along the way. Our closure rate has risen to 90%, which is one of the highest in the country. I want to take this moment to acknowledge the work this team has done, and the leadership Agent Peter Burke has provided.” He raised his glass of sangria. “To Peter!”

The other guests raised their glasses and bottles. “To Peter!” they echoed.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Double fisting it?”

Neal looked up from gathering empty beer bottles to take to the recycle bin. “Mrs. Hughes. I didn’t get to meet you earlier. I’m Neal Caffrey.” He shrugged, his hands too full to shake hands.

“Yes, Reese has mentioned you. I’m Ilsa.” She was slim, like her husband, with blond hair. “Let me help you with those.” She grabbed more bottles. “I assume you know where you’re going?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Neal led the way outside. “Is it true that you’re part of the team that prosecuted Martha Stewart?”

“That’s right. And if I hear one more ‘It’s a good thing’ joke I can’t be held responsible for what I do.” She dropped the bottles in the bin. “She should be sentenced next month, and then I’m hoping for a nice, low profile case.”

Neal placed his bottles in the bin, and then straightened to ask, “Do your cases often overlap with your husband’s?”

“Frequently enough that we try not to talk shop at home. I’ve considered doing some consulting with the FBI, actually. I thought it might be a way to step down from the hours I have now in the Federal Prosecutor’s Office, without retiring altogether. How do you like it?”

“Consulting?” Neal leaned back against the fence, hands in his pockets. “It’s been great. It’s changed my life in more ways than I can count. And now I can’t imagine not working in White Collar.”

“So it really is…” she trailed off and smirked.

Neal chuckled. “Yeah, it’s a good thing.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Heading back inside, Neal caught Reese Hughes’ eyes and stepped in his direction. Ever since the man had arrived, Neal had the feeling Hughes had something to tell him. Neal wanted to know what it was. There was a chance that it was good news, that maybe there was a way –

“Neal? Mrs. Burke said you could point me in the right direction.”

Neal turned to see Travis Miller. He was an electronics expert, someone who specialized in the tools used in surveillance. Since Neal did his best to avoid assignments in the van, they hadn’t spent much time together. The guy seemed nice enough, in a geeky kind of way that Mozzie would likely appreciate. He was a few years older than Neal, tall with dark hair. “Yeah? What are you looking for?”

“Well, I asked why there wasn’t any music,” Travis said with a slight Texas drawl. “This party’s too quiet, you know?”

Neal agreed. Like all of the Caffreys he’d met since reconnecting with his mother’s family, he loved music and missed its presence tonight. He almost wished he’d brought his guitar. “How can I help?”

“A co-conspirator. Excellent. She said the speakers won’t accept input from the stereo while the TV is on.” Travis gestured toward the TV that was muted but showing a baseball game.

Neal raised a brow. “That’s what Elizabeth said?”

“That was the gist of it. I’m sure I can get us some tunes while leaving the TV on for the baseball fanatics, if you can point me to the audio equipment.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Let me at it.”

Soon Travis was on his hands and knees, inspecting the Burkes’ electronics and impersonating the Wicked Witch of the West. “Come here, my pretty.”

Neal shook his head. “Now you’re scaring me.”

Travis looked up, bumping noses with a curious Satchmo. “Watch out, or I’ll get you and your little dog, too.”

“C’mon, Satch.” Neal reached down to distract the dog by scratching his ears. “We aren’t appreciated here. Let the madman work his magic in peace.” He turned around, once more intending to get a moment with Hughes, when he saw the front door open. To his surprise, in walked Agent Clinton Jones. That settled it. Hughes could wait.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter smiled when he saw Jones arrive. Then he saw Neal make a beeline for the agent and frowned. Since no one had asked for anything in the last several minutes, Peter made an executive decision to abandon the grill. He got to Jones seconds after Neal. “Thanks for dropping by. We weren’t sure if you’d be able to make it. How was the flight?” Peter asked, interrupting whatever Neal was about to say.

Jones looked grateful for the interruption. “We landed at LaGuardia,” he said.

“Sorry about that,” said Peter, aware that JFK was considered vastly superior as an airport. “The Bureau always pushes us to the cheapest flights. Everyone’s going to be glad to see you again. I’m sure you’re eager to get home, after living out of a suitcase all this time.” Other than Neal, Jones was the youngest member of Peter’s team but he showed great promise. That’s why he’d been assigned to partner with Winston-Winslow on an investigation into one of their former employees in Baltimore. Robert Winslow had aided and abetted blackmailers, bribed an FBI agent, and attempted to arrange a murder. He’d tried to have Neal killed. Twice.

As a result, Neal was excluded from this case. As an intended victim and the best friend of Robert’s son, Neal was too close to be objective. But that wouldn’t stop him from pelting Jones with questions about the case, even though Jones was supposed to report his findings only to Peter and Hughes. They would decide what could be shared with others. “You need a drink?” Peter asked Jones. “There’s beer in the kitchen.”

“I could go for a beer.” Jones took a step toward the kitchen, but Peter stopped him.

“Neal, grab a beer for Jones,” Peter said, pushing Jones toward the sofa. “Let him get a chance to relax.” As he expected, by the time Neal returned, Jones was surrounded by agents welcoming him back. Neal managed to maneuver through the crowd to deliver Jones’ drink, but there would be no chance to have a private chat, especially when music started blaring.

“Sorry,” said Travis when Peter sent a startled glance in his direction. He turned the music down slightly, then joined the throng around Jones.

Neal looked up at Peter and rolled his eyes. Peter gestured to follow him, and led the way to the back porch, which was currently deserted and quieter than the house. “Listen,” Peter said, “I get it. In your shoes, I’d want to find out what Jones knows, too. But you’re putting him in a tough position. He can’t talk to you about the case. I promise, if we get any indication that Robert is in town or planning another attempt on your life, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You think it’s Robert I want to ask him about?” Neal sounded surprised.

Peter caught on immediately. Robert’s son – Neal’s cousin and best friend – had been distraught back in March when they’d learned that Robert was the person behind the attempts on Neal’s life. Things only got worse when Robert tried to kill Henry, too. An employee of the investigation and security firm Winston-Winslow that his great-grandfather had founded, Henry was prohibited from joining the hunt for Robert, but had taken a leave of absence and Peter suspected he was searching on his own. “When’s the last time you heard from Henry?”

Neal started pacing. “It’s been over a month since we’ve spoken. About once a week I get a postcard. He won’t even text, in case anyone’s trying to track him. I thought he’d be the first I’d tell about Columbia, after you and Elizabeth. And then there was Memorial Day.” He stopped and ran his hands through his hair. “I went to Byron’s grave with June and her daughters, and after being stoic all this time, June really lost it. She was sobbing all the way home. Normally he’d tell me how to handle it, if I could just talk to him.”

Peter patted the kid’s back. “You can always talk to me about that stuff, you know.”

“It isn’t really your area. Henry…” Neal shrugged.

Peter nodded. Henry had a master’s degree in psychology which certainly helped when discussing the emotional pitfalls of life, and he had so much in common with Neal the kid sometimes referred to his older cousin as an “alternate me” – someone Neal might have been if his father hadn’t gone to prison. Henry thought of himself as Neal’s big brother and had a protective streak. But Peter’s gut told him Henry was struggling to cope right now, and wasn’t able to provide the support he had in the past. “Well, if not me, then El,” Peter said. “We’re here for you, you know.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned to the living room, Hughes and his wife had already left. So much for finding out if the man had news for him. He’d have to track him down at the office. Once the joy of being accepted into the graduate program at Columbia no longer consumed Neal, the challenges started to present themselves. One of those challenges was how to pay his tuition. Peter had mentioned that the FBI sometimes paid for a degree that was relevant to an agent’s role. A dual masters in visual arts and art history was certainly relevant to Neal’s job in White Collar, but he wasn’t an agent. Last week Hughes had promised to check on whether Neal could qualify for that particular benefit.

Neal had also looked into standard student loans, but they came with challenges of their own. He only had a few months of legal work history on his own credit record. Most students without work history had parents who acted as guarantors for the loan. It was one thing to think of Peter as a father. It was another to ask for that kind of commitment. And the Burkes were talking about taking out a loan to start Elizabeth’s new business. They couldn’t take on responsibility for another loan at the same time, even if Neal had every intention of making the payments himself.

Then there were the Caffreys. Either his aunt Noelle or his grandparents could afford to co-sign a loan, but he couldn’t ask that of people he’d just met. The last thing he wanted was for them to think his main interest in them was their money.

To think only a few years ago he’d taken out nearly a dozen student loans for schools he’d never attended, as part of a fraud he’d dreamt up. But that money was long gone now, mostly used to fund even bigger frauds and schemes. The problem was, getting those loans had required lying. As an employee of the FBI, he couldn’t get away with lying on financial documents anymore, and he had learned enough to realize that telling the truth wouldn’t get him what he needed.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Neal looked up to see Elizabeth Burke. She held a glass of sangria out to him. He took it and drank as he considered his response. Finally he said, “I’m enjoying the music. I didn’t realize your tastes were so eclectic.”

She grinned. “Believe it or not, in high school all I listened to was Top 40. Then at UMass, my first roommate worked at the college radio station. She had me listening to new and local artists, and music styles I’d never heard of. Seeking out the new and different became a hobby. And speaking of college, we could have used this party to celebrate your acceptance into Columbia, along with Peter’s anniversary as the team lead. But he said you didn’t want to tell anyone yet?”

Neal shrugged. “Tonight should be about Peter. And I’m not ready to tell the team.” Wanting to change the subject, he added, “I know tonight was the exact six-month anniversary, but I’m surprised you didn’t wait until the weekend. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

“Saturday wouldn’t work for Reese, and I really wanted him to be here.”

“What about Sunday?”

“No, we couldn’t hold it on Father’s Day.” El watched him like a hawk.

Neal cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized that was this weekend. He couldn’t remember ever celebrating Father’s Day, and he rarely paid attention to it. But now, with Peter… He drank the rest of his sangria. “Do you think Peter would like to do something?”

“I think he would love to spend time with you on Father’s Day.” She placed a hand on his arm. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. I took the liberty of getting three tickets for the Yankees game that afternoon, and maybe we could go out for dinner after. Something casual. I haven’t said anything to him about it, so there’s no pressure if you have other plans or don’t want to join us.”

It took Neal a moment to wrap his head around the idea of actually spending Father’s Day with someone he thought of as his dad. He’d never expected to have this. It was thrilling and frightening. “Yeah, sure. Tell me what time to be here.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones was the next to leave the party, tired from his travels and eager to unpack. The rest of team followed shortly, aware they needed to be at work the next day in time for the morning briefing. Neal stayed the longest, offering to help to clean up, but El shooed him out saying he was a guest. There wasn’t a lot of cleanup, and soon Peter settled on the sofa beside his wife. She gave him a few minutes to unwind, and then said, “Well?”

“Hmm?” Peter stopped staring at the floor and looked up. “Oh. Yeah, it went all right, didn’t it? Everyone showed up, we didn’t run out of food, and they had a good time.”

El laid her head on his shoulder. “Told you so.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“We should do this again.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“How about next month?”

“Mm-hmm.” Peter’s mind caught up and he paused. “What?”

El sat up straight to face him. “Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Is something wrong? You’ve seemed preoccupied ever since Jones arrived.”

“I’m concerned about Neal. When it comes to him, it’s like I have this radar, you know? It starts pinging when he’s getting in trouble.”

“Is it pinging now?”

“No, not yet. But something feels off, and I keep expecting to hear the pings any minute. I think there’s something he isn’t telling me, something I should know about or it’s gonna bite me.”

El gave him a mysterious smile. “If that feeling started this evening, I think I know why. And you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is it something to do with getting into Columbia? Because I’ve been wondering why he doesn’t want to tell the team about it.”

Her smile faded. “No. Sorry, hon. That puzzles me, too.”

Peter ran through the events of the evening in his mind, trying to put his finger on what had caused this sense of unease. “But it isn’t work-related,” he said. “Not if you know about it and I don’t. Is it-”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Peter,” she interrupted. “You’re going to hound him about this tomorrow, aren’t you? Can’t you let him have a secret?”

“The thing is, Neal’s secrets tend to be explosive. They can be distractions for him, for me, potential landmines impacting our cases.”

“Can’t you turn off the FBI agent, just for a few days, if I tell you there’s nothing to worry about?”

“A few days? What’s happening in a few days?” That sent Peter’s mind down new paths, but he caught El’s expression and he stopped. “Turning off the FBI agent takes time. Anyway, what would I be instead?”

“A dad, Peter.” She studied him and then shook her head. “I think FBI agents aren’t able to appreciate surprises. Fine. Sunday is Father’s Day, and Neal and I are conspiring to celebrate. I thought we could keep it from you, but I’m afraid you’ll start to interrogate him tomorrow if I didn’t confess. Can we at least leave the details a secret?”

Peter nodded, finding he didn’t trust his voice. He hadn’t expected this, and was moved that Neal wanted to spend Father’s Day with him. A wave of warmth carried him through the rest of the evening, distracting him from his earlier concerns.

In fact, his radar shut down entirely for the next week. And that might not have been a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue! The next chapter is called Father’s Day. It has a scene for fans of Caffrey Envoy who have been asking for another glimpse of very, very young Neal.
> 
> Thanks to my beta and co-writer in this AU: Silbrith. She describes Neal’s acceptance into Columbia in a fun story called Complications which introduced the concept of Peter’s radar. We've created a Pinterest board for the stories in this series, with visuals of characters and locations: http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon/ 
> 
> For more about this story and the series, see our blog. One post specific to this story is: http://pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com/2016/05/robert-winslow-villain-who-snuck-up-on.html 
> 
> Cast list for Caffrey Disclosure:  
> Burke Family: Peter Burke, his wife Elizabeth, their dog Satchmo, Peter's older brother Joe, Joe's daughters Rosalind and Viola
> 
> Caffrey-Winslow Family: Neal Caffrey, his grandparents Irene (Dressa) Randolph Caffrey and Edmund (Dor), Neal's mother Meredith, Meredith's twin sister Noelle, Meredith and Noelle's older brother David (deceased), David's daughter Angela, Angela's mother Paige Farraday Caffrey, Noelle's son Henry Winslow, Noelle's ex-husband Robert Winslow, Robert's father Graham Winslow, Graham's wife Julia
> 
> White Collar team: Tricia Wiese and her husband Mitch, Clinton Jones, Travis Miller, Diana Berrigan, Reese Hughes and his wife Ilsa, Hughes' secretary Barbara
> 
> Other canon characters: June Ellington (her deceased husband Byron and their granddaughter Cindy are mentioned, and I'm calling Cindy's father Paul), Mozzie, Sara Ellis, Ellen Parker
> 
> Other non-canon characters:  
> June's chef: Emil
> 
> Seattle FBI Agents Yoshida and Mathison, D.C.-based Missing Persons agents Young and Silva, and D.C.-based Agent Jeff DeLay works in the Office of Public Affairs with Diana
> 
> U.S. Marshals Annina Brandel and Mike Chan and Simon Preston
> 
> Professor Clarence Strasser: one of Neal's first art teachers in St. Louis
> 
> Theresa: Neal's crush in Strasser's art class, now working at Masterson Music (see below)
> 
> Las Vegas characters: Gondolier manager Rocco, Poker dealer Tammy, Make-up artist Bess
> 
> Boston radio station: Lisa is one of Elizabeth’s former college roommates, Donna is a DJ, Brad is a producer
> 
> Vernon Heinemann: an expert in facial recognition software
> 
> Jason Ford: a former intern and employee at Win-Win, he works at a company called Carlson-Berger now.
> 
> Masterson Music: Stan Masterson is CEO and an unethical businessman, Charlie Vensen is a talent scout, Theresa works in PR, Amos an attorney, Rhonda is an assistant for Stan.
> 
> Garza/Hunter family in Austin, TX: Miranda Garza is a song writer and producer, her daughter Yvette is in law school, Miranda's brother Lawson Hunter is a lawyer, Lawson's daughter Shannon was saved by Henry when they were in college and she is now engaged to Jake
> 
> Weston Music Store: Randy Weston is the store owner and his daughter Samantha (Sam) helps out while attending business school; she was a victim of Masterson Music. Teenaged customer Wesley and his mother – an editor at The New York Times
> 
> Former members of the band Local Devastation: Theo Guy now owns a recording studio, Michael Darling is now a professor of music and still writes songs, Ty Merchant has a solo career, Trevor Merchant is Ty’s brother and was the group’s drummer
> 
> Cassie Blanca: song writer and victim of Masterson
> 
> Professor Victoria Laszlo works at the Julliard School
> 
> Urban Legend members: Shawn Legend, Neal Legend, Grace Legend
> 
> Aliases: Peter will use Peter Blaine. Mozzie will use Louie Renault. Neal & Meredith are also identified by code name Apocalypse. Henry & Noelle are also identified by code name Armageddon. Angela & David are also identified by code name Chaos. Robert's accomplice is known as Ferrari. Neal also uses his Nick Halden alias.


	2. Father's Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I put the characters through a lot and then give them a fluffy bit toward the end. With Father’s Day falling at the start of this story’s timeline, things get fluffy early.

**White Collar Division. Wednesday morning. June 16, 2004.**

As soon as the morning briefing ended, Peter and Jones met with Hughes to discuss the latest developments in the Winslow case. What troubled Peter the most was Jones’ suspicion that Robert Winslow had an accomplice. “I can’t prove anything,” Jones said. “But there’s a lot of references in his files to someone he calls Ferrari, going back to the mid-1990s through 2001. Then in 2002 there’s nothing, but it picks up again in late 2003.”

“That corresponds to when he banished Neal and then got interested in him again,” Peter said. “Any leads on Ferrari?”

“Not yet.” Jones sounded frustrated. “Robert did a very thorough job of erasing all electronic references to him… or her. We wouldn’t know the name at all if not for a set of hardcopy files Robert didn’t throw out before he disappeared. At this point, we don’t even know if Ferrari works for Win-Win. Fact is, Robert didn’t have a lot of warning that we were onto him. He did a half-assed job of making it look like his son was behind the attempts on Neal’s life, and an excellent job of eliminating anything about Ferrari. That tells me Ferrari is important.”

“Find Ferrari, and maybe we finally find Robert,” Peter said.

“No leads on Robert Winslow’s location, after all this time?” Hughes asked.

Jones shook his head. “He’s spent almost 14 years working for a company that specializes in tracking people. He knows all the tricks for finding suspects, and he’s avoided leaving any kind of trail. I gotta think he had an escape plan ready well in advance. He might have been working on it for years.”

Hughes stood. “All right, gentlemen. I have a noon flight to catch. Call me if you need me. Otherwise I’ll see you on Monday.” He strode out to the elevators, and Peter walked back to his own office.

Jones followed him. “You know, Win-Win has amazing resources and they know Robert better than we do. If they haven’t been able to find this guy by conventional means, I don’t think we will either. It might be time to think outside the box.” He glanced pointedly down at Neal’s empty desk. The consultant was in the field with Agent Tricia Wiese, gathering intel for a new case.

Peter looked down to the bullpen and then closed the door to his office so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this.”

“If we can’t find Robert, maybe we bring him to us. We know what he wants.”

“I’m not using Neal as bait,” Peter said.

“How about we just spread the word that Neal’s vulnerable. He doesn’t have to be unprotected, we just have to let Robert think…” Jones trailed off, probably in reaction to Peter’s expression. “Not the right time?”

Peter was known for going with his gut. Currently it was churning so badly he wanted an antacid. “We’ll find another way.”

Jones looked doubtful, but nodded respectfully and opened the door to head back to his desk.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Peter said, grabbing a file folder from his desk. “Now that you’re back, I have another assignment for you.” As Jones reached for the file, Peter continued, “Our request for a probationary agent was approved.”

“We get a probie?” Jones asked, sounding elated. “I’m not going to be the junior agent around here anymore?”

“That’s right. In that file is a list of all the upcoming Quantico graduates interested in working in the Manhattan office. It’s a popular assignment, and with our record lately we’re going to get top pick. Look over their resumes and the notes from their instructors. Pick your top three, and we’ll interview them.”

Jones flashed a smile worthy of Neal and jogged back to his desk with the file folder.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Saturday rolled around and Neal still hadn’t spoken with Hughes. The man had gone to DC Wednesday afternoon for midyear planning sessions and wouldn’t be back until Monday. Still no answer as to whether the FBI would pay Neal’s tuition. Time was flying by, and if the FBI didn’t come through for him, Neal would have to get creative or give up on graduate school.

His aunt Noelle Winslow was in town, having spent the week leading a seminar at Columbia. It was her alma mater, and Neal’s grandparents had also attended the school. They were supposedly disappointed that neither of his cousins had chosen Columbia, and thrilled that he would be studying there. All the more pressure for Neal to find a way to pay the tuition at the pricey institution.

Neal met Noelle for brunch and they kept the conversation light, talking about her experiences as a psychology professor and her undergrad days in New York. It wasn’t until the waiter was taking away their plates that Neal asked, “Any word from Henry?”

He immediately regretted asking. Noelle went from bubbly to sad in a heartbeat at the reminder of her wayward son. “Just a postcard.”

“Same here,” Neal told her. And looking for something to cheer her up he said, “I hear you’ve started dating Peter’s older brother. Did you get to see him on this trip?”

She nodded. “We had dinner a couple of times, and tomorrow I’m meeting Joe’s daughters. They’re both home from college now.”

Meeting the daughters, and spending Father’s Day with them. This sounded serious. In Henry’s absence, Neal might need to grill Peter about Joe and make sure this guy was would treat Noelle right. Both Noelle and her identical twin – Neal’s mom – had made poor choices in husbands the first time around, and his mom hadn’t done great with boyfriends, either. Someone had to make sure Noelle didn’t make another mistake.

Noelle stood and asked, “Are you ready?” Neal followed her outside and they walked to her hotel. They still had weekly therapy sessions, usually over the phone since she lived in Baltimore. She’d said that starting in July they could meet twice a month, which Neal took to mean he was making headway.

Settling on the sofa in his aunt’s hotel room, they covered a familiar theme: worthiness. While Neal knew he didn’t deserve the abuse and other bad aspects of his childhood, he struggled to accept that he deserved and could keep the good things in his life now. His acceptance into Columbia’s graduate school – bypassing a bachelor’s degree – was a case in point. It was too good to be true, and he didn’t trust things that fell in that category.

“You still haven’t told your co-workers about your acceptance into Columbia?” Noelle asked. “Why is that?”

Money was the obvious reason, and not one he wanted to discuss with her for fear of sounding like he was asking for a handout. But there were other reasons. “What if I can’t handle it, on top of everything else? I’d rather wait until I’m sure I can balance school and my job. If I have to drop out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Neal, you’re an extremely intelligent, creative and stubborn individual. If you want to make it work, you will. What else has you reluctant to share your good news?”

There was the fact that he wanted Henry to be among the first to know. But that was another topic he didn’t want to bring up with his aunt. “It’s not just the pressure from the team. I’d rather not make a big deal out of this until I’m sure I won’t let Peter down. He invested a lot of time in helping me prepare for the entrance exams. If I wash out, he’ll be disappointed.”

Noelle raised a brow. “Disappointed in you, or disappointed for you?”

Neal looked away. “I don’t know. Both, I guess.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, Neal. We’d all be very lonely if that were the case.”

Neal stretched and caught a surreptitious look at his watch. It had almost been an hour. She’d probably let him get away with changing the subject, and there was something he very much wanted to discuss. “Well, there’s one thing I want to get perfect for Peter. Tomorrow’s Father’s Day. Elizabeth arranged for us to go to a Yankees game, but I feel like I should do more. Only… I don’t really know how to do Father’s Day.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Noelle said, blinking back tears.

When Neal left a little while later, he was glad for her advice. But he was also sad, because today had shown what they’d both known to be true: the more they connected as aunt and nephew, the less effective she would be as his therapist. There were too many subjects he’d avoided today in order spare her. Soon he would have to ask her to recommend someone else.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sunday afternoon promptly at 1:00, Neal knocked on the door of the Burkes’ home, carrying two shopping bags. Elizabeth let him in. “What do we have here?” she asked.

“Dinner,” Neal said. “I thought about making reservations someplace, but it’s hard to predict when the game will end, especially if there are extra innings. Anyway, I’d like to make something for you. My mom was a chef, you know. I picked up a few things.” He shut up, feeling like he was rambling. Next thing he knew, he’d be talking about her decline from upscale caterer in D.C. to sous chef and then finally short-order cook in St. Louis as her drinking took a toll on her reliability as an employee. He’d gradually taken over meals at home because she became too apathetic to deal with it, and sometimes when he was in his teens their only conversation for days would be her off-hand instructions when she noticed what he was cooking. He’d tried a wide range of dishes, hoping to engage her interest. “Some of this should go in the fridge,” he said, shaking off the memories.

He followed El into the kitchen, and heard Peter jogging down the stairs. “There you are,” he said, stepping through the kitchen door. “I thought I heard you.” Peter wore jeans and a black short sleeve shirt. For once Neal wasn’t wearing black, going for jeans and a blue shirt. El wore a Yankees shirt.

“Here.” Neal pulled a gift-wrapped box out of one of the bags. “Happy Father’s Day.” He watched as Peter unwrapped it, although he pretended to be absorbed in taking the rest of the groceries out. When Peter pulled a silk tie out of the box, Neal added, “I’m told it’s traditional to give an ugly tie, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. This one should dress up your favorite suit until you’re ready to replace it with something from this decade.”

Peter chuckled. “I remember when we were sharing that hotel room in St. Louis, you did a sleight of hand with one of my ties. Made it look like you’d pulled it out of the room safe. You made a smartass remark then about me needing a tie from the current century.”

Neal smirked. “I’ve still got your anniversary and Christmas coming up. By the end of the year we’ll have you looking almost dapper.” He caught Elizabeth trying not to laugh. “Are you with me on this? If we team up, I think we could give him a complete makeover.”

El reached up to kiss Peter’s cheek. “He got rid of the mustache for me last year. That’s all the makeover I need.”

“Wait, Peter had a mustache? Tell me there are pictures,” Neal said.

“No,” Peter insisted. “I had them all destroyed.”

The lighthearted banter continued throughout the afternoon. The fact that the Yankees played a great game buoyed their mood. Neal was never going to be the die-hard baseball fan that Peter was, but he certainly enjoyed the weather and the camaraderie. He heard about Peter’s fledgling baseball career, and the injury that sent him to the FBI instead. “I’d always had the Bureau in the back of my mind for when I started slowing down as a pitcher,” Peter had explained during the seventh-inning stretch. “But I thought I’d be playing ball another ten years. I’ll admit I was devastated at first, but sometimes the curveballs that you curse in life turn out to be blessings in disguise. If I’d stuck with my original plan, I probably wouldn’t have met either of you.” He stopped then as the game resumed, but Neal felt honored to be considered a blessing in Peter’s life.

Back at the house, Neal put together a lasagna that he knew would satisfy the tastes of both Burkes. He’d placed it in the oven and was about to suggest perusing Elizabeth’s music collection when she announced that they were going to watch a video.

Neal assumed it was a favorite movie of Peter’s, and thus was surprised when he took the plastic case from his wife and asked, “What’s this?”

She grinned. “Oh, a little bird called me last night and recommended this. I rented it from the place down the street. She also emailed a note for you.” She handed over a sheet of paper.

Peter read it out loud. “ _Dear Peter, I’m so happy that Neal is spending Father’s Day with you. Of course he was too young when he left us to remember any of the Caffrey Father’s Day traditions. My favorite was when our parents reminisced about our most memorable childhood moments. It was embarrassing at the time, but now I look back fondly on those conversations. The DVD will give him a taste of that experience. You don’t have to watch the movie. Simply go to tracks three and four in the extras. All my best, Noelle._ ” Peter looked inquisitively at Neal. “You have a connection to this movie?”

Neal took the movie, puzzled. It was an early 1980s remake of a 1940s film, recently released on DVD. He’d never seen either version, although he seemed to recall his mother had the original in her collection. Now that he thought about it, it seemed odd that she owned it but never watched it, at least not when he was around. “My grandmother was in the original. She played a nanny for the squabbling offspring of a widow and widower who convinced the kids to get along after their parents got married.” When he’d learned his grandmother was a former actress he’d looked up her movies, but hadn’t watched all of them yet.

“Let’s see what this is about.” Peter opened the case and turned on the TV.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Track three was an interview with a very sophisticated Irene Caffrey in her home in Washington D.C. Her husband wasn’t an ambassador yet, but they had spent many years in the diplomatic corps and Irene was the epitome of poise and grace under pressure. The interviewer was asking about Irene’s cameo in the remake, in which she played a grandmother, and he seemed determined to make the case that she wasn’t suited for the part.

“I do have two grandchildren, you know,” she said drily at one point, but the interviewer repeated his opinion that no one could imagine Irene Caffrey as a grandmother, or even as a mother. In the nanny role, he explained, she’d been near the age of the children and had been more of a cohort or big sister. No one, he repeated, could believe former comic actress Irene Randolph as parental or authoritative.

Finally Irene held up a hand, and said, “Shush. Kevin, is that you lurking back there?”

A voice off camera said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“A producer, like your father, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again.

“I remember your mother brought you to the set when we were filming the original movie. You couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old, and I chatted with her sometimes when she changed your diaper. I want you to know that I still have her number, and if you let this farce continue I’ll be giving her a call this evening.”

Snickering could be heard from the cameraman.

A voiceover announced, “Needless to say, that interview never aired, and the reason you probably don’t recognize the interviewer is that he was fired the next day. Mrs. Caffrey declined a follow-up interview, as the movie was slated for a Christmas release in the next few weeks and she said spending time with her family was her priority going into the holidays.” The DVD clicked to the next track, and that same voice said, “The crew had arrived at Mrs. Caffrey’s home about an hour ahead of the interviewer, who was running late and didn’t take time to talk to her or the crew ahead of the disastrous interview. They were given permission to film as they set up and adjusted the lights. In footage never seen before, one of our cameras followed the actress while she waited for the interview.”

Irene Caffrey knelt in the middle of the living room where the interview would take place. The folds of her pleated ivory skirt fell neatly around her, and an emerald green blouse complemented her eyes. Her golden hair was pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked around and said, “Well, I was going to introduce you to my grandson, but I don’t know where he went. I do hope we find him soon. We’d be awfully upset if we lost him.” Her voice had a teasing quality.

A childish giggle was heard.

“Oh, did you hear that? I wonder where that came from. Do you think it’s him?”

The camera zoomed in on a child, about nine months old, peeking from behind a chair. He giggled again and then crawled toward her, babbling in baby speak.

“There you are!” Irene lifted the child up and he shrieked with laughter. She sat down on the sofa, bouncing him on her lap and talking to the crew until the child yawned. “Dear boy’s getting tired. Is it your nap time, Neal?” she asked. He gave an even bigger yawn in response. “Yes, I thought so.” She’d pulled him closer to her body, his head on her shoulder, and was about to stand up when another little boy ran into the room. He was three years old.

“Neal, Neal, Neal,” he chanted as he ran. He skidded to a stop in front of Irene and announced, “I’m here.”

“Yes, Henry, I noticed. Aren’t you the little scoundrel?”

“What’s a scoundrel?” he asked.

“It’s a very clever boy who sneaks away from his grandfather.”

He shrugged. “He had a phone call. It was boring. I wanna play.”

“I’m sure Neal would like to play with you, too, but he can’t right now. It’s time for his nap.”

Henry pouted. “He sleeps a lot.”

Irene reached out to ruffle the disgruntled boy’s hair. “It’s tiring growing as fast as babies do. But he’s working hard to become as big as you.”

Henry clambered up the sofa to sit beside his grandmother and looked at Neal with disbelief. “He’s really gonna get big as me?”

Wrapping her free arm around the boy, she nodded. Before Irene could say anything, a dark-haired woman about 30 years old entered the room. She wore an apron over a cream blouse and black slacks. “I thought I heard you in here. Henry, I’m looking for someone to help me finish the profiteroles.”

“Profi…” He trailed off on his attempt at the unfamiliar word.

“Profiteroles,” she repeated. “Someone needs to drizzle chocolate over them and then taste them. I need an expert to approve they’re good enough for dessert tonight. Do you think you could do that?”

“Chocolate!” Henry slid off the sofa and took the hand extended toward him. He was halfway across the room in pursuit of a sugar high when he turned around and yelled, “Bye, Neal!”

The woman paused just inside the door to the hallway. “Do you need any help with him, Mom?”

Irene sniffed in disdain. “Don’t insult me. Baby Bear and I will be fine.”

“Baby Bear?” asked a voice off camera.

Irene beamed in the direction of the voice. “Would you hand me that bag? The blue one, behind you. Yes, that’s it.” A hand could be seen placing a bag on the sofa. Irene rooted around in it and pulled out a fuzzy onesie with bear ears on the hood. “Isn’t it the most adorable thing? I had to buy it the moment I saw it.” With practiced efficiency, she slid the baby into the onesie. “It’s nice and cozy, and Neal sleeps best when he’s warm.”

“You call him Baby Bear because of the outfit?” asked a member of the crew.

“Nonsense. I bought the outfit because I call him Baby Bear. Come here.” She beckoned. “Bring the microphone, right up to him.” She turned the baby toward the camera. His face was scrunched up. “Hear that rumbly, growling sound? He does that when he’s unhappy. It’s our warning that he’s about to cry. And that’s my cue to take him up to his crib. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She left the room and the camera crew. As she disappeared she could be heard cooing to the sniffling baby, “That’s right. I know. You’re tired, and I’m going to take you to a nice, comfy bed.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The track ended. Peter paused the DVD and there was silence for a moment.

“Baby Bear?” El said, her voice full of mirth. “And I thought Mom calling me Bumblebee was bad.”

“I should check on the lasagna.” Neal disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter leaned back and chuckled as a grinning El leaned against him. Noelle was right. He remembered this about Burke family gatherings on Mother’s and Father’s Days: hearing stories about when he and Joe were kids, usually accompanied by viewing embarrassing baby photos. And yet looking back he treasured those memories of teasing and laughter. It was good for Neal to experience this aspect of family.

When Neal returned El said, “Noelle looked so young.”

Neal met her eyes. “That wasn’t Noelle.”

“It was your mother?” she asked. “Of course, she’s the chef. I should have realized. Identical twins.”

“May I?” Neal took the remote from Peter and went back to a point before the unfortunate onesie made an appearance. He paused at an image of himself on Irene’s lap, facing the camera. “It’s so weird,” he said after staring at the screen a moment.

Peter had been studying Neal while Neal studied the image. “Your mom wasn’t allowed to take any baby photos along when you went into WITSEC.”

“No family photos from before, and we were discouraged from having new photos taken. Although I just thought Mom was camera shy.” He fast forwarded to the moment the camera panned to Meredith and paused again. “I don’t have any pictures of my mom. And I sure don’t remember her like this – so happy and normal.”

“But you’ve seen family photo albums in the last year, right?” Peter asked. He recalled something along those lines from Neal’s few comments about how he’d spent Christmas. As far as he could tell, Neal and his cousin Henry snuck into their grandparents’ home and looked through that kind of stuff.

“Yeah, sure,” Neal said. “I’ve seen them.” He walked over to the DVD player to eject the disc and return it to the case.

“It’s not the same thing as having them, though,” said El, with a significant glance at Peter. And at that moment Peter knew what they were getting Neal for Christmas. He was sure Noelle would help them get copies of old family photos to make an album for Neal. He liked this trend he was seeing in Neal: taking an interest in family, becoming less of a loner. It was something he wanted to encourage.

Soon they consumed the lasagna. Neal had also managed to produce a couple of side dishes and a dessert he called Zabaione alla Gritti. Peter was about to ask if there was any of it left for seconds when Elizabeth elbowed him, and directed his glance toward Neal. The kid was staring at his own dessert, his mind miles away.

“Neal?” Peter said.

He looked up, startled, and then looked around him. “Oh. Yeah.” He stood and started clearing the table.

El joined in, and Peter did, too. Soon the dishwasher was loaded, and El stood in Neal’s way as he moved toward the kitchen door. “What is it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “A lot of memories stirring around.”

“Good ones?” El persisted.

“Mostly.” He gave her a grin that Peter didn’t entirely trust. It was his I-want-you-to-think-I’m-happy grin, but lacked the warmth a true grin carried. “I’m thinking of giving profiteroles a try. Maybe that will tempt Henry to come back. He has a serious sweet tooth.”

They hung out in the living room a little longer, but when Satchmo demanded a walk, Neal decided it was time to leave. He turned down a ride from Peter, saying the man shouldn’t be a chauffeur on Father’s Day. He almost slipped out in the chaos of the Burkes dealing with getting the leash on their exuberant dog. But Peter wasn’t going to let him escape like that.

“Thanks for the tie, and the dinner,” Peter said. He pulled the young man into a quick hug. Neal actually stepped into it and patted Peter on the back before slipping away. It was progress. The first time Peter had hugged Neal – back in January – the kid had been startled and stiff.

Later, settled on the sofa with a beer in one hand and the other arm around El, Peter was ready to relax. El, however, kept fidgeting. Finally he put down the beer and asked, “What is it?”

“Did we do the right thing, having Neal here for Father’s Day?” she asked.

Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought so. I’d have said building family ties and putting down roots is exactly what he needs to keep him firmly entrenched in his new, law-abiding life. What did I miss?”

“I wonder if we pushed him a little too fast. He seemed overwhelmed toward the end. You know, I don’t think he’s seen his grandparents since his birthday party in March. I would say he liked them and liked spending time with them at the party, but then he needed to retreat, I guess. What if by trying to embrace him, we make him feel smothered?”

“Good point. If it seems like he’s pulling away, we can give him space. Not distance ourselves, you know, but respect his boundaries.” Peter stretched. “If you’re right, the timing’s good, anyway. Soon I’ll be heading into my first round of midyear appraisals with the team. I won’t have time to hover, at least not in the office.”

Peter’s infamous gut instinct was all for hovering, and this time he overruled it. If Neal needed space, he’d let him have it, at least for a while. But he still proudly wore his new tie to work on Monday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m setting the stage for Diana to join the team as a “probie.” Silbrith’s Woman in Blue is the inspiration for the Baby Bear – you’ll encounter bear references when she posts her final chapters. See the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for images of Baby Neal/Baby Bear. In the next chapter, Neal’s world will be rocked in a typically angsty way, and in chapter 4 he picks up a new case to channel all that angsty energy.
> 
> FYI, in reality Columbia wasn’t open to female students until the 1980s; instead they would have gotten their degrees from a sister school.


	3. Teacher's Pet

**June’s mansion. Sunday evening. June 20, 2004.**

Neal expected the mansion to be dark and empty when he got home. June was spending the weekend with her oldest daughter’s family in Philadelphia. At least that was the plan, but Neal saw her in the sitting room, a box of tissues by her side. This didn’t look good.

“June?” he asked.

She looked up at him, blinking tears out of her eyes. “Oh, my. Neal, what time is it?”

“About 8:00. Do you need anything?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure? Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine, Neal. I ate on the plane.”

Neal perched on the arm of the sofa across from her. It was a casual pose, so she wouldn’t think he was worried. “Didn’t you say you were flying back on Monday?”

“I was. Neal, do you know what today is?”

“It’s Father’s Day,” he said. When June had told him about her travel plans, it was before Elizabeth had reminded him. He hadn’t connected her trip with the holiday until now. Why had June flown home today instead of spending it with family?

“The first Father’s Day since Byron died. I keep hitting those firsts. First birthday, first Memorial Day, and now first Father’s Day. They break my heart. But my daughter… Well she pulled me aside this morning and said I needed to let them be happy. My granddaughter Cindy and her father, they’re still alive and deserve to celebrate without being drawn down by my sorrow.”

“But–” Neal interjected, only to be interrupted.

“She’s right. She said I deserve to mourn, but not everything can be about Byron. Today needed to be about Cindy and Paul. I stayed out of their way and watched them for a while. But I was too blue to join them, so I came home.” She smiled sadly at Neal. “And what did you do today?”

“I was with Peter and Elizabeth. We took Peter to a Yankees game. I wish you’d called me. You didn’t have to be here alone.”

“Yes, I did. Sometimes the best thing is to be alone and not have to put on act for anyone. Pretending to be happy can be exhausting. Being alone and free to cry is something I need to indulge in more often. I think I tried to rush back into my old life too quickly. I tried to con myself into thinking I was ready.” She stood up and hugged Neal. “You’re very kind, Neal, but you don’t have to worry about me. Go on upstairs.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The conversation with June weighed on Neal. He understood her sadness but chafed at his inability to do anything to help her. And he was still processing everything that had happened with Peter and Elizabeth today. From the playfulness of the afternoon to the poignant memories of his mother that had overtaken him this evening, he felt he’d been on an emotional rollercoaster.

Just as he’d fantasized as a child that his father was honest and dependable like Peter Burke, he’d had daydreams about his ideal mother. Someone who paid attention to him, who enjoyed teaching him instead of having to be enticed into noticing what he was up to. That had certainly been part of the appeal of Chantal, the master safecracker who taught him her trade in Europe a few years ago. Hers was more a big-sister vibe rather than motherly, but she showered Neal with attention when he proved adept at her trade, and she was also a gourmet chef. When he acknowledged a passing interest in cooking, she took him under her wing in the kitchen, too. The dessert recipe he’d used today had been hers. She’d always talked about opening a restaurant eventually. Maybe someday he’d visit her and swap stories about how they’d traded in a life of crime for more legal endeavors. But he wondered if she could ever really leave the life, married to Klaus. Her husband was an extraordinary cat burglar who’d shown no inclination to retire. Klaus was a charming guy, but by the end Neal had suspected that his charm hid a more ruthless nature, one that he couldn’t…

And then his phone vibrated. His aunt was calling. She was supposed to be with Joe Burke and his daughters, but this Father’s Day seemed to be cursed. Had something gone wrong for her, too? “Noelle?” he answered. “Are things all right with your branch of the Burke family?”

“I think Joe’s daughters were as scared of me as I was of them. We were all on our best behavior at first, but we started to see glimpses of our real selves by the end. I have a meeting with the Win-Win board of directors in the morning, so I’m at the airport, waiting for my flight home. I wanted to check in and see how your day went.”

“We saw the extras on the DVD you recommended,” Neal said.

“I hope you enjoyed it.” There was a pause. “Neal, are you still there?”

“Yeah. It’s just… I mean, there were all these emotions going on anyway around Father’s Day and my lack of decent father figures before I met Peter, and then seeing the video brought on a flood of memories of Mom. It’s like I don’t even know if I’m happy or sad right now.”

“Repressed memories?” Noelle asked, concern in her voice.

“No, nothing like that. Just stuff I haven’t thought about in a while. I’ve been trying to put some of that behind me, especially the parts when she was drinking. Suddenly my head’s full of exactly those memories I’ve been trying to avoid, when I wanted the day to be about Peter and how great it’s been to have him in my life. The thing is, I wish you’d given me some warning. It felt like… like an ambush.”

“Oh, sweetie, that wasn’t what I intended. I knew it might be bittersweet, but you had a support system there. It seemed the ideal opportunity for you to watch that DVD and open up to Peter and Elizabeth about some of the things we’d been discussing in our sessions.”

He paced the floor, and ran his free hand through his hair. “No. I couldn’t do that. It’s supposed to be a happy holiday.”

She sighed. “It’s supposed to be about love and family. Sometimes love causes sadness, even pain, and the people we think of as family can take some of the burden if we let them. Neal, I’m sorry. It sounds like I tried to push you into something you weren’t ready to handle. I understand you need time to reflect on everything, so I won’t push you to talk tonight. But I want you to promise to call me on Tuesday night. It can be for just five minutes, but you have to call. Will you do that?”

“Sure. Tuesday night.”

“Thank you, Neal. I want you to remember that I love you, and that I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

When the call ended, Neal wished he’d hidden his confusion over the day’s events. Now Noelle thought she’d done something wrong. She was worried about him, when she had enough going on in her life. Not just the budding romance with Joe, but also her concerns about Henry. Her own son was God knows where on Father’s Day, hunting the father who’d tried to kill him. Compared to that, Neal’s issues seemed paltry. Maybe he should have gone ahead and shared his memories about his mother with Peter and Elizabeth. Maybe they would have appreciated having him show his trust like that. Maybe it would have turned something sad into an uplifting experience.

Second guessing himself was never fun, but he consoled himself with the reminder that the Burkes would give him another chance. Next weekend. They could get together again next weekend, and this time he’d get it right.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday morning Neal felt more like himself, as if he’d recovered from an emotional equivalent of the flu. He had his act together now, and rolled his eyes at his uncertainties of the previous evening. Noelle was right. Instead of suppressing the tidal wave of memories brought on by seeing his mother on the DVD, he should have been open with Peter and Elizabeth about those memories and how they affected him. If he’d done that, he probably would have ended the evening laughing with them about the Baby Bear bit. And he would have remembered to thank Peter. He’d intended to commemorate Father’s Day by telling his father figure how grateful he was for the job at the FBI and for the help cramming for his graduate entrance exams. Plus there was the letter of recommendation he’d written to accompany Neal’s application to Columbia. The difference Peter had made in his life in the last six months was immeasurable.

He grinned to see Peter wearing the Father’s Day gift tie. It really did make that ugly suit look more stylish.

After the morning briefing he asked to talk to Peter. Before the agent could respond to the request, Hughes said that Peter was needed in meetings all morning. He explained that he had information from his trip to D.C. last week that he needed to share with all of the Manhattan team leads and had asked them to clear their calendars for that purpose.

Which meant Neal wasn’t going to be able to corner Hughes about the FBI paying for his tuition.

For a couple of hours he stayed busy with Tricia looking at their new case. It was an intellectual property theft, which was rather dry but at least something new to keep his mind occupied. But by 11am it had fallen apart. The more they dug into the allegations, the more it looked like this was a case of jealousy, not theft. “Take an early lunch,” Tricia suggested. “I’ll see if I can find another case for us.”

Returning to his desk, Neal saw a blinking light that indicated voice mail. The caller was Annina Brandel, from the U.S. Marshals’ office. She said she wanted to talk. After a quick check in the FBI databases to confirm she was who she claimed, he returned her call. She told him she was free now, and as he had nothing pending he volunteered to head over to the Marshals’ office to chat with her.

Annina led Neal to a small conference room. It seemed a relatively cheerful place, designed to put potential protected witnesses at ease, but Neal noticed the video equipment near the ceiling. It was very possible that their conversation was being recorded.

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of a calm and relaxed visitor. “What can I do for you, Annina?”

She sat across the table from him and opened a file folder. “You’re something of an unusual case, Mr. Caffrey.”

“Please, call me Neal.”

She nodded. “Neal, you may not realize that most people who enter Witness Protection spend the rest of their lives in the program. You’re one of the rare few to check out of the program and successfully reintegrate into a form of their old lives. I’d like to talk about your situation and confirm what we have in our files. It’s possible your experiences could be useful to others.”

“Sure.” Neal pulled the folder toward himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got and I’ll let you know if anything’s wrong or out of date.”

Annina pulled the file folder back, but handed him a copy of one of the documents. “We have your address on Riverside Drive. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, it’s…” Neal trailed off as he saw the appraised value of the mansion on the form. “Wait. You don’t think I own this place, do you? I rent a space on the top floor.”  

“Yes, we know. And do we have your employment information correct?”

Neal saw he was listed as a consultant at the FBI. They even had his salary grade listed. They didn’t actually show his salary, but he saw the range for his level. Interesting. There was definitely room to negotiate for a raise. “That’s right.”

“And will you confirm your salary grade?”

“Yes, it’s accurate.”

“Have you received any signing bonuses, or other significant forms of income beyond what’s listed here?”

Neal shook his head. “That’s it.”

“And I understand you’ve applied to study at Columbia. But you haven’t applied for any loans or other forms of financial aid?”

“Not yet. Sometimes the FBI will pay tuition. I’m waiting to see if they’ll help me out. What exactly does this have to do with my reintegration?”

She slid another piece of paper across the table. It was a copy of his latest bank statement. “You present a conundrum, Neal. Given your FBI wages and the going rate for rent in your neighborhood, not to mention the vintage suits you wear, you should be in serious debt already. You shouldn’t even be considering graduate school. But despite all logic telling us it should be impossible, you’re maintaining a positive bank balance and considering taking on even more expenses. There’s something missing here. Either you live a charmed life, or there’s something else going on. Possibly of concern to our office.”

Neal shook his head. “A charmed life, really? Have you talked to anyone about my life in St. Louis? It’s a miracle I’m still alive, so yeah, I guess you could say I’m lucky.”

“You’re aware that a few months ago your mother’s location was compromised?”

“Yeah. I’m aware that while I was in the hospital recovering from an attempt on my life, the guy who wanted to kill me threatened to give my mother’s location to my father’s enemies. Are you saying you think I had something to do with that? That I’m on the take like my father was? Because if that’s what you’re accusing me of, then I’m putting a stop to this until I have a lawyer present.”

“All I’m saying is that your finances raise some red flags, and I need to look into that.”

Neal took a deep breath. “If you assure me that you’re looking into Robert Winslow’s role in all of this, then I’ll answer your questions about my finances.” Neal saw the bewilderment on her face. “The FBI told the Marshals in February that Robert was the one who found Mom’s location and told it to the man he sent to lure me out of the hospital. Haven’t you read my file? Or my mom’s?”

“You have to understand, information is segmented in this organization for a reason. In order to keep our witnesses safe, their files are shared on a need-to-know basis only. All I need to know is that we suffered a breech related to your mother’s location at a time when your finances indicate a security risk.”

Neal stood. “There’s something else you need to know, Annina. Before I joined the FBI, I was a con artist. We survive by making our own luck, by creating a façade that shows an impossibly enticing scenario. A charmed life, if you will.” He tossed his copy of the papers on the table. “You fell for a con, and you think I’m going to trust you with my secrets?”

He left the building, stopping by a bistro for a quick lunch. He definitely wanted to run this by Peter. What had the FBI had told the Marshals about Robert back in February? Why on earth were they looking into Neal about this matter almost four months later? Was this simple incompetence, or an indication that Robert was manipulating the system, possibly bribing someone again to cause trouble for Neal? Until he knew what was going on, he didn’t want to share any information that Robert might find useful.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The fates seemed to be conspiring against Neal. Peter’s morning meetings with Hughes turned into an all-day event. He never made it back to his office, instead emailing the team that he needed to leave early for an errand, and that’d he be out Tuesday. Elizabeth had made appointments to look at options for space she might rent to set up her new business, wanting to make a more professional impression than meeting clients in her home. With no pressing cases, Peter was taking advantage of the lull to go along with his wife and the real estate agent.

Thinking about it, Neal realized that he didn’t need Peter. The expert on the Robert Winslow case was right here – shutting down his laptop to go home. Jones probably didn’t want to work overtime his first full week back in town, and Neal would be willing to guess Tricia had been warned against letting him try to get information out of Jones.

Instead, Neal wrote a note and folded it into a sophisticated version of a paper airplane. An expert in origami had standards to maintain. The plane floated to Jones’ desk, landing on his laptop.

Jones picked it up and saw the writing on the tail: _Dare you to volunteer for Tuesday Tails tomorrow._ Jones looked over at Neal, who shrugged as if to say: _What? I didn’t do anything._

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tuesday Tails had started when the team followed Neal over his lunch hours when he first started to work at the Bureau. They hadn’t trusted him, and wanted him to know he was being watched.

Neal had won them over by doing nothing suspicious, and by treating the lunchtime tails as a game. It evolved into a once-weekly training exercise, with agents refining their skills in tracking suspects. And recently Neal had reversed the game, saying he needed to learn to tail suspects, too. Once a month Neal followed an agent, who in turn practiced skills in losing a tail.

This week was a reverse Tuesday Tail, and it was the first time Jones had experienced being tailed by Neal. Jones wasn’t bad, but not particularly creative, either. Ten minutes into the game, Neal walked up to Jones’ hiding spot and said, “We need to talk.”

Jones jumped down from the fire escape landing and followed Neal out of the alley. “I was afraid of this. I can’t tell you about the case. Peter would have my head. He’s determined to keep you out of it, worried you’ll go off after Robert and get yourself killed.”

“Don’t worry,” Neal assured him. “I’m not going to ask any questions. Just the opposite. There’s some information I want you to have.” They grabbed sandwiches to go from a small café and walked into a park. On a bench away from most of the foot traffic, Neal described his experience the previous day at the Marshals’ office. Then he waited to see if Jones would draw the same conclusion.

“Four months after the fact, they’re suddenly looking into you as a suspect?” Jones asked.

Neal nodded.

“Huh.” Jones took the last bite of his sandwich and washed it down with the remnants from his bottle of water. “That sounds suspicious. Did you look up the Marshal you spoke with?”

“Yeah. She seemed clean, but relatively new. Green enough to take orders to look into me without questioning it.”

Jones crumpled up the wrapper from his sandwich and made a perfect shot, dropping the wrapper into a trashcan a few feet away. “Thanks for telling me about it instead of looking into it solo. I’ll see what I can find out.”

As they stood up, Neal said, “Let me know if I can help.”

“Like I said, Peter wants you kept out of this one.”

Based on Jones’ tone, Neal said, “It doesn’t sound like you agree with him.”

“I think catching Robert is going to take a lot of creativity, and you’re probably the most creative person on the team. Sooner or later, we’ll have to loop you in.”

Neal was flattered by the comment, and it started his afternoon on a bright note. When he saw Hughes was finally back in his office, he hoped the positive trend would continue. He walked up the steps to Hughes’ level and knocked on his door. “Got a minute?”

“Caffrey, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Let’s grab a conference room. I’d like some privacy for this.” Hughes led him to a small, out-of-the-way conference room and gestured for Neal to take a seat.

“Has there been a decision about my tuition?” Neal asked as Hughes closed the door.

Hughes sat across from Neal and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I kept bumping the question up the ladder hoping to get an exception for you, but HR isn’t flexible on this one. Only agents get tuition assistance. However there are loan programs that will give you a lower interest rate as a Federal employee.”

Neal swallowed his disappointment, and appreciated the privacy to gather his thoughts before returning to his desk. Sure he could fake a smile for the team, but it would be easier if he had a few moments to bounce back from the bad news. So much for his supposedly charmed life. He looked up at Hughes, surprised the man wasn’t on his way back out the door. “Thanks for trying. Was there something else?”

“At the party last week, I noticed you were very familiar with the Burkes’ home. You were clearly well known to the dog, you helped out Peter and Elizabeth serving the food and then you picked things up. At times it almost seemed like you were a co-host.”

Neal stared at him, unsure where this was going, but sensing Hughes’ disapproval.

“I’m not the only one who noticed. We’re FBI agents, after all. We’re trained to be observant. The fact is, some of the team are starting to call you the teacher’s pet. That’s the kind of thing that leads to jealousy and dissension, and we can’t have that. Team members need to trust each other with their lives. They need to trust Peter’s leadership, and that his decisions aren’t swayed by favoritism.” Hughes paused to let Neal take that in. “Do you understand?”

“I’m undermining Peter’s position?”

“I don’t think it’s intentional, and it isn’t irreparable. I just need you to be aware of it. Don’t ask for special treatment or act like you deserve it. Don’t monopolize his time. Don’t have inside jokes or otherwise make the team feel like you have an inside track with the boss.” Hughes stood up. “You’re an asset to this team, Caffrey. I’ve seen what you’ve contributed and I want to keep you around. But I also want Peter to succeed.”

“So do I,” said Neal.

“I’m glad to hear it. It’s fine to be friends, as long as you remember to keep things businesslike when you’re working. Remember that Peter’s the boss, and treat him accordingly. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Does…” Neal trailed off. He’d wanted to ask if Peter knew about this, if he approved. But of course Peter knew. He’d spent all of yesterday in meetings with Hughes. Did he approve? Neal wanted to think he didn’t, but looking at the big picture, he had to acknowledge that Peter’s job was at stake, a job that meant the world to him at the best of times. Now, with Elizabeth quitting her job to start a new business, looking at locations and planning to take out a loan… Peter needed stability more than ever. “I wish Peter had been able to tell me,” Neal said.

“I think you needed to hear it from someone more objective.” With that, Hughes opened the door and left.

Neal took a deep breath. Everything Hughes said sounded reasonable, so why did it feel like he’d been punched in the gut?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more about Klaus and Chantal, see Woman in Blue by Silbrith. For more about Neal’s hospital stay and the threats Neal mentioned to Annina, see Caffrey Flashback.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for asking how Neal can afford his standard of living, which inspired the conversation with the US Marshals. Annina will return later to resume that conversation, and the question of how Neal pays for Columbia will continue through most of this story.


	4. Anything You Can Do

**White Collar Division. Tuesday afternoon. June 22, 2004.**

After taking a few minutes to gather himself, Neal returned to the bullpen. He stopped in the kitchen area for a cup of coffee he didn’t want, and looked around at the team members who weren’t in the field this afternoon. How many of them agreed with Hughes that Neal was dragging Peter down?

Back at his desk, Neal started making a list of all the cases he’d worked, hoping to reassure himself of the good he’d done. After all, he’d contributed to that 90% closure rate everyone was so proud of. But the more he looked at the list, the more he remembered his mistakes. Was it his fault they hadn’t been able to catch Adler after they had gotten a new lead? If he hadn’t been so cocky going into the Highbury case, maybe Neal wouldn’t have landed in the hospital and Peter would have been more focused. If Neal hadn’t joined the team, would Agent Hitchum still be working here, instead of being arrested for accepting bribes and tampering with evidence? Neal didn’t like knowing he’d contributed to rattling Peter’s unquestioning faith in the FBI.

“Oh, good.” Tricia Wiese stood beside Neal’s desk. “Since we don’t have a new case for you yet, I was going to suggest you take advantage of the downtime to document your midyear accomplishments. Looks like you’re ahead of me. This list is a good start. You want to add the Tuesday Tails, of course.”

Neal automatically added that to his list. Then he shook his head. “Most of these I messed up at some point. I’m not sure if I should be writing accomplishments or a letter of resignation.”

Tricia leaned against his desk. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Neal, and you’re making me feel old. Virtually every new agent feels the way you do six months in. You’ve finally learned enough to understand what you should have done. We don’t expect perfection. We do expect learning, and continuous improvement. Don’t dwell on the past, except to learn from it. Use it to set goals for the future. Think about how you should approach your next case differently, given what you know now.”

Neal felt a twinge of hope. She could have offered to help him with the letter of resignation, but had ignored that opening. Maybe he still had some allies here. “You really think I can do this job?”

“I think you _should_ do it. You’re a natural. More importantly, Peter thinks you should do it, and you know what everyone says about Peter’s instincts. Don’t bet against the gut.”

Neal nodded. “I need a case, something I can use to show what I’ve learned.”

“Something will come along,” Tricia assured him. “Things never stay this quiet.”

Not long after that pep talk his phone vibrated, offering a welcome reprieve from tweaking his midyear accomplishments in the ponderous HR systems. Seeing it was an unknown number, Neal hoped it was his cousin calling from a burner phone. Instead it was Theo Guy, a former member of alternate rock band Local Devastation who had recently opened his own recording studio. Working on a case involving threats to Michael Darling – another former member of the band – had led to Neal being invited to a recording session in February. They’d actually let him participate when Ty Merchant practiced songs Michael had written for Ty’s second solo album. Just thinking about it lifted Neal’s spirits. As a teenager he’d idolized these people.

“Remember I said I might call you if I needed a backup musician? You free this evening?” Theo asked.

“Sure,” said Neal. Music was almost as good as art for purging emotions and stress. He’d planned to spend the evening painting, but he didn’t have an inspiration and hated to force it. “You want me to bring my guitar?”

“Nah, this will be keyboards and a little singing. You gonna give your paycheck to charity again?”

Neal considered it. But he could use the extra money to put toward his tuition. “Not this time.”

“OK. Remind me to get a social security number from you. By the way, you know a Grace Legend?”

“Yeah, I know her.”

“Got a call yesterday from someone looking for her. Said she noticed your pseudonym in the credits for the album Ty’s releasing next year, and thought you might be able to put her in contact. And that got me thinking you’d be a good choice for this gig. You want her number?”

Neal wrote down the woman’s name and number. Then he debated whether to call her, or if he should call Grace first. The easy, obvious choice would be calling Grace, giving her this other woman’s number, and leaving it up to her whether she wanted to talk to whoever this was.

But a series of questions were forming in the back of his mind. Questions he should have asked weeks ago, but he’d been distracted. Finding out what this stranger knew might give him leverage when he started looking for answers, and therefore he called her first.

His call went to a receptionist at the Julliard School, and then was transferred to Professor Victoria Laszlo. “My name’s Neal,” he said when the professor answered. “Theo Guy told me you wanted to talk about Grace Legend.”

“I’m looking for her contact information.” Victoria had a smoothly modulated voice. She must be a singer or stage actress, Neal guessed.

“Can you tell me why?” Neal countered. “I don’t normally give her number out to strangers.”

“Do you read MINNY?” she asked.

Music Industry Notes – New York. It was an online newsletter about music performances and performers. Neal used to read it to look for events he might want to attend. But prepping for Columbia entrance exams and worry about Henry’s disappearance had kept Neal too busy for the music scene, and he’d stopped reading it. “I used to, but not recently. Not since April. What does it have to do with Grace?”

“Early this month she was brought to my attention by one of our alumni as someone who might be a good fit for our school. I received an invitation to a private performance featuring Ms. Legend and several other musicians, and fortunately I was able to attend. She is truly a gifted pianist, and I had hopes of speaking to her about applying to our school. Unfortunately the event was interrupted, and… Well, you can read the details in MINNY. I’m still interested in speaking to her about our school, but my main concern is simply to ascertain that she recovered from the incident. I know how fragile young performers can be.”

Neal was impressed that the Julliard was interested in Grace. He knew she was good, but didn’t know she was that good. “The alumnus who recommended Grace couldn’t give you her information?”

“No. When I called Ty Merchant, he said he’d never heard of her. I’m still trying to determine who was claiming to be Ty in the first place. But I follow news about our former students, and when I saw your name associated with his latest album, I called the recording studio to see if they could put me in touch with you. I’d seen your name tangentially connected to hers when I ran a search for her.”

“Thanks for letting me know. I’ll check on her, and give her your number.” He was about to say goodbye, but then decided to ask, “Oh, one more thing. Are you familiar with Masterson Music?”

“Some of our students have gone on to sign contracts with them, but I don’t have personal experience with the organization.”

“So you wouldn’t know if anyone from the company attended the event where you heard Grace perform?”

“No, I wouldn’t recognize anyone from the company. But I noticed several people from the music industry in the room. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear someone from Masterson was among them.”

“OK. Thanks.” Ending the call, Neal dove into research. He had to admit the FBI had upped his skills in that area. First he found the issue of MINNY the professor had mentioned. Grace had participated in a concert of classical music, giving a particularly impressive piano solo that MINNY raved about. During an intermission, she was surrounded by concert-goers who were praising her performance of Liszt’s “La Campanella” when a young man pulled her a few feet away and started lambasting her. He said she was wasting her time, that she was fooling herself if she thought she would ever be as good as he was, that he’d only included her in his act out of pity, and that these people were simply being polite. He’d gone on until she started to cry and ran away, and she didn’t return for the second half of the performance. When people stopped looking for Grace, they realized the man who’d been berating her had also disappeared.

Then Neal tracked other reports and commentary on the story. There was speculation that the man who’d disrupted the event was Shawn Legend, who partnered with Grace in the duo Urban Legend. Most of the pages dedicated to Grace on the Urban Legend site had been taken down, and replaced with a post that the group had split due to “artistic differences.”   A Grace Legend site, titled Urban Chaos, had popped up and there were hundreds of comments posted from fans and from people who’d heard about the split. Some posts railed against Shawn. Some requested that Grace perform some of their favorite he-done-me-wrong songs. She was getting a lot of attention for someone who had never recorded an album.

It was a con, of course. He’d helped them plan it last year, and Neal liked to think that the suggestions he’d made back then had contributed to the success they’d had in pulling it off. But while he was impressed at what they’d accomplished, he was also annoyed that Shawn and Grace had been in New York two weeks ago and not contacted him. After all, the split of Urban Legend was intended to be the first element in a long con. Were they foolhardy enough to try the rest of it without him, or had they replaced him?

And the timing surprised him. This con was Henry’s brainchild, part of his plan to trap a corrupt executive in the music industry. Why kick this off when he was busy hunting for Robert? Henry didn’t think he’d could do both simultaneously, did he?

Neal took a break to get decent coffee from a shop across from the FBI building, and let his mind wander. Seven years ago, shortly after Neal had run away from home, his cousin Henry Winslow found him and took him to a hospital. And then he took Neal under his wing. For reasons he wouldn’t explain at first, Henry seemed to be on the run, and they got by using a variety of cons. Sometimes they’d convince a hotel they had a reservation. Sometimes they lived out of Henry’s car. And Henry always brought along his guitar. He’d been happy to learn that Neal could play it, and that he had a decent singing voice. They’d sing along with the radio when driving, and Henry would challenge Neal to play the songs they’d heard. Neal could usually play the melody of a song once he’d heard it a few times, although he was better on a piano than on a guitar.

Then one morning Henry got a call and they drove all day to Minneapolis. All Henry would say was they were going to a concert. They got there as the venue was being set up. There was seating for thousands of people. Henry introduced himself as Shawn Legend, said Neal was his brother, and next thing he knew they were meeting with a band. Not the headliners, but the ones who would go on stage first and open for the main event. They were short a guitar player – the guy had been skateboarding the day before and wound up with a serious concussion – and they’d called on Shawn Legend as a substitute. Neal watched from backstage as his cousin performed at a rock concert, and as an 18-year-old he thought it was the coolest thing he’d ever witnessed.

He smiled now as he remembered a group of teenage girls swarming the backstage area. They’d worn badges that indicated they’d won a radio contest giving them the chance to be backstage. Most of the girls were ignoring the opening act, instead trying to catch glimpses of the headliners. But one girl stood beside Neal and asked, “Are you part of the crew?”

“Nah. I’m with my brother.” He pointed to Henry, one of several guitarists. He was in the back row, but he stood out from the rest in ways Neal was studying carefully.

“Wow. Do you get into a lot of concerts?” she asked.

“This is the first one he’s brought me to. But he’s teaching me to play.” Actually, Neal had started teaching himself to play the guitar when he was 15, but Henry had given him a lot of pointers. And he wondered if Henry might intend for him to go onstage like this someday.

When his part of the performance was over, Henry joined Neal backstage. He allowed himself to bask in the admiration of the flock of teenagers, but didn’t seem to mind when their attention transferred to the main act. When the headliners started singing, Henry directed Neal’s attention to the stage, pointing out what the band members did beyond simply hitting the right notes. He explained how their movements, expressions and eye contact conveyed emotions and affected the audience. He helped Neal see the difference between playing a song, and performing it. He praised some members of the band and sharply criticized others with a scathing tone that Neal would eventually associate with Shawn. Over time Neal learned that an alias was often more than another name – it was a separate background and personality from your own. And Shawn was much harsher than Henry.

That evening, Henry hinted that his Shawn alias did more than just fill in for missing performers, and that Neal could join the act if he promised not to tell anyone that Henry and Shawn were the same person. And after the concert he’d gone on to explain why he needed an alias he could disappear into at a moment’s notice.

And thus Neal Legend had been born, and they started to call themselves Urban Legend. It had been fun until Neal had to leave four years later. Robert’s blackmail gave him the options of running or going to prison. He hadn’t told Henry what Robert had done, not wanting to make Henry’s rocky relationship with his father even worse. Confused and angry, Henry had dealt with his reactions to Neal’s abandonment in his Shawn persona, saying to Neal much the same things MINNY reported he’d said to Grace. And then he’d gone on to tell people who asked about the missing half of the act that his brother was too weak, then too sick, and then finally saying Neal Legend was dead.

But Henry had learned that a duo could do things a one-man act couldn’t, or maybe he was simply lonely. He’d recruited their cousin Angela to replace Neal, and she went with her middle name: Grace.

Shawn Legend. Neal Legend. Grace Legend. They each had their own unique reasons for wanting to slip into those personas. Reasons they wanted… No, reasons they _needed_ to keep those aliases secret.   Only one other person knew who they really were.

Along the way, they’d met a lot of musicians and heard a lot of stories. The most disturbing were about a guy named Stan Masterson, who’d recently formed his own company from the remnants of a firm that had folded. The stories about him involved empty bank accounts, broken dreams, and amazing music that would never be heard. And it made Henry mad. He often told Neal this was the kind of thing his father should have been looking into with Winston-Winslow’s resources.

By the time he returned to the 21st floor, Neal thought he knew what Henry was doing now. It was a con inside a con inside yet another con.

The first con was intended to bring down Stan Masterson. That in itself was incredibly complex. Henry had been refining the plan for over a year and it still wasn’t a sure thing.

The next con was keeping Henry’s family – including Neal – in the dark. Everyone was so convinced that Henry was obsessed with tracking Robert that no one considered he had something much more dangerous in mind. That meant everyone focused on finding Robert before Henry could, but no one was actively looking for Henry himself.

And the third con was the killer, perhaps literally. By disappearing as he had, Henry was taunting Robert, hoping to lure him into a game of cat and mouse. While everyone assumed Henry was hunting Robert, he was actually trying to get Robert to hunt him. The Masterson con enabled Henry to slip in and out of view in a way that would infuriate his father and perhaps draw him out of hiding.

On the one hand, it might be brilliant. On the other hand, it might be so complex it would collapse under its own weight like a black hole, crushing Henry in the process. And maybe he didn’t care, as long as Robert was crushed, too.

If Neal wanted to help Henry, he had two challenges. The first was to come up with a better plan, and the second was to convince his cousin to abandon the plan he was following now. Make that three challenges. Finding Henry and changing his mind could be a full-time job, and Neal already had a full-time job. Unless… Maybe he could turn this into his next case. He’d beat Henry at his own game as a means to prove he belonged in the White Collar team based on his own merit, and not because he was the teacher’s pet.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

He needed time to work up a plan to replace Henry’s, but he already knew that step one was forming a crew. Henry had gone for a trusted few. Only Shawn, Grace and Neal were needed to pull off the version of the plan Neal assumed Henry was still using as a roadmap for stopping Masterson. Henry had insisted they avoid involving the FBI or Winston-Winslow, due to the risk that they would uncover secrets both Henry and Neal wanted to keep hidden.

Neal would take the opposite approach now. He’d use the resources of the Bureau and Win-Win to get ahead of Henry. He’d protect their secrets by keeping both organizations too focused on the prize to think about anything else. It was like a game of Find the Lady, but instead of a Queen, they’d be trying to keep their eyes on Robert.

It hurt a little to think he couldn’t include Peter in the crew, but the end goal included showing he could succeed without his father figure’s help. He turned his focus to Tricia, instead. As a senior agent, she would assume she should take the lead in the operation. He needed to make her think she was in charge. And she would be in charge – of the piece of the con Neal let her in on.

He started his recruitment by sitting down on Jones’ desk at 4:30 in the afternoon. Some of the agents who came in early were already gone or heading out. Tricia usually left at 5:00 and would want to deal with him quickly. “I know I said I don’t have any questions about your case,” Neal told Jones, already seeing Tricia moving toward them, “but there is one thing…” He glanced up at Tricia. “Oh. Hi.” He pretended to be surprised to see her. It would help if she believed getting involved was her own idea, something he’d actually resisted.

“Neal, you know you aren’t supposed to talk to Jones about the Robert Winslow case.”

He gave her his most earnest expression. “It’s not really about Robert, per se. It’s more about FBI procedure.”

She raised a brow, not buying it. “Then why are you asking our most junior agent? No offense, Jones.”

Jones shook his head. “None taken.”

Neal said, “Well, it’s in context of the search for Robert. And I wasn’t really comfortable asking you, because… It’s sort of…” He looked around, bringing Tricia’s attention to the fact that everyone left in the bullpen was staring at them.

“Let’s take this up to…” A quick glance showed that there was a meeting going on in the conference room, and Tricia frowned.

“Peter’s office is empty,” Neal said in an off-hand manner.

She took a deep breath and said, “Fine. Since he’s out today, we’ll use his office.” She led the way and it seemed natural for her to sit behind the desk, with Neal and Jones in the guest chairs. “Now what’s this all about?”

“I’ve been thinking about the Winslow case,” Neal said. Before Tricia could chime in he added, “Come on. The guy wants to kill me. How could I not think about it?” When she nodded he continued, “At this point we’re clear on what he’s done and how he did it. All that’s left is the manhunt, right?”

Jones shrugged. “I can’t talk about what’s still ongoing outside of the search for Robert. Our agreement with Win-Win that allowed me access to their files also included a non-disclosure agreement. Peter and Hughes signed the same NDA, you two didn’t.”

“So it’s OK to talk about the status of the search?” Neal asked.

“Yeah,” Jones said. “The status is safe enough. Where Peter will have my hide is if I point you in a direction that sends you looking for trouble.”

Neal looked at Tricia. “This is where things get uncomfortable. I wondered why the search for Robert wasn’t turned over to Missing Persons. That’s their specialty, right?”

She shook her head. “They specialize in cases where someone being missing is the original issue. When a case originates in another department, that department leads the search for witnesses and suspects.”

“But why not pull in the team with the expertise when the initial search is unsuccessful? I mean, except for the obvious.” He rolled his eyes. “Rice isn’t exactly fun to work with.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, growing more serious. “It’s been months with no sightings of Robert. And you came to White Collar from Missing Persons. If we really want to find him, it seems like we should get the most experienced agent involved. But I heard about how you joined White Collar after Rice beat you out for the lead role. I don’t want to cause an interdepartmental incident by asking you to step on their turf. Isn’t that how it would look if you take the lead on a manhunt rather than handing it over to them?”

Jones looked thoughtful. “The fact is, I could use help on this one. It doesn’t have to be a big deal if I just ask for the advice of a senior agent, does it?”

Tricia thought it over. “It shouldn’t be an issue, and I have time. I don’t have another case, and even if one came along tomorrow I probably couldn’t take it, because I’m on vacation next week. As long as we keep Peter aware of what we’re doing, I’d be open to advising you on your next steps.” Then she turned her attention to Neal. “We still can’t include you, but I appreciate the suggestion. I can let Peter know it was your idea.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. He might resist it, a knee-jerk reaction to hearing my name and _Robert Winslow_ in the same conversation.”

“I understand,” Tricia said. “How about I give you credit after we find Robert?”

“That sounds better,” Neal agreed.

Jones checked his watch. “Sorry. I’m supposed to meet George at the gym.”

Neal smiled at the mention of the man who’d helped save his life. “Tell him I said hello.”

“You got it,” Jones promised as he opened the door to leave Peter’s office.

Tricia stood to leave, and was at the door when Neal sighed. “Something wrong?” she asked.

“No, it’s…” He closed his eyes and slouched in the chair, legs stretched in front of him. “I don’t want to keep you. It can wait.”

Tricia turned around and leaned against Peter’s desk, facing Neal. “What is it?”

He opened his eyes and took a ragged breath, and it wasn’t entirely an act. He really was worried. “Robert isn’t the only one who’s missing. But he’s the only person we’re looking for.”

It didn’t take Tricia long to see where he was going. “Your cousin?”

“It feels like we’re too wrapped up with the bad guy to help his victims. But at the same time, I’m sitting around with nothing to work on.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s so frustrating!”

“Isn’t the search for Robert and for his son essentially one and the same?”

“That’s the assumption we’ve all been making. But I’ve been thinking about it this afternoon – a lot of time on my hands – and I think we have it backwards. If Henry wanted to find Robert, he’d have stayed at Win-Win, using their systems and data. I think his goal is the opposite. He falls off the radar, with the expectation that Robert’s going to hear about it and wonder what he’s up to. Then he starts leaving clues, ones that his father would pick up on. Instead of finding Robert, he lets Robert find him.”

Tricia moved into the chair beside Neal. “When you were in the hospital, we asked Henry to impersonate you, and it was shocking, actually. He knows you. And I’d assume you know him equally well.”

Neal nodded, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to interrupt her when she was taking the leap he wanted.

“How confident are you in this theory about Henry leading Robert into a trap?”

“I’m certain of it. It’s exactly the kind of thing he would do. And it’s the only reason that makes sense for not staying in contact with me or his mom. He hasn’t talked to either of us in weeks.”

“Do you think you could find these clues he’s leaving for Robert?” Before Neal could answer, she held up a hand to stop him. “ _Without_ leaving the Bureau? No one’s going to approve letting you in the field to join your cousin in this scheme of his.”

That was disappointing, but not unexpected.

“For the most part, yeah, I think I can track him from here. But –”

“Why did I know there would be a _but_?” Tricia asked.

“Staying off the radar, leaving clues, and keeping track of whether Robert’s following those clues… That’s not a one-man job. He must have an accomplice, and for some incomprehensible reason it isn’t me. But I have thoughts about who he’d use – namely people who’ve helped him in the past. I’d need to talk to each of them face-to-face to figure out which one of them it is, and to convince each of them to let me know if they hear anything. Then I can handle the rest safely from here.”

“Henry’s smart. And he has several weeks’ head start,” Tricia pointed out. “As I recall, the two of you are evenly matched. Do you really think you can make up the lost ground?”

“I’ve got two advantages right now. The first is that he doesn’t know I’ve figured out what he’s up to. The second is that he’s seriously hurting over learning the truth about his dad. He’s still smart, but he’s not thinking as clearly as he normally would. We saw that when Peter had to come to our rescue at the airstrip. He’ll slip up again, and we need to catch him when he falls. Because if we aren’t there for him, it will be Robert who shows up take advantage of Henry’s weakness.”

“Damn it,” said Tricia.

“What?”

“Henry isn’t a suspect or a witness. He really could be classified as a missing person. And there’s no way I’m turning the search for him over to Rice. There has to be a way to keep this case in White Collar.” She paused as she considered everything they had discussed. “Tell you what, let me sleep on it. I’ll think of something; I’m sure of it. Catch me before the morning briefing tomorrow.” Then she shook her head. “No, that won’t work. It’s my turn to take the boys to daycare. I’ll barely get here ahead of the briefing. Will you follow my lead in tomorrow’s meeting?”

Neal nodded. “Absolutely.” Mission accomplished. Tricia was on his side, and she thought she was in charge.

He left the office soon after she did. He needed to change into something more casual and head to Theo’s studio, to recruit the next member of his crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the story Caffrey Flashback to read about how George saved Neal’s life, and to see how Peter came to the rescue at the airstrip. See the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for images of Grace and Shawn Legend and to hear Grace’s solo. Thanks to Silbrith for being an extraordinary beta reader and for brightening my birthday. And thanks everyone for reading! In the next chapter, Neal cons Peter and Tricia. Or are they conning him?


	5. Pinocchio

**Theo’s studio. Tuesday evening. June 22, 2004.**

Neal arrived at Theo’s studio early, hoping to convince the music expert to join his con. Or his case, from the FBI’s perspective. Some of each, Neal supposed. He was in the process of conning the FBI into turning his plan into an official case.

He wasn’t going to get time alone with Theo right away, however, because someone else was already there and ordering people about. When Theo broke away to say hello to Neal, the bossy redhead was at his heels.

“Who’s this?” she demanded.

Unsure if Theo would use his real name or the alias he used as a stage name, Neal spoke up. “Neal Legend.”

“Neal, this is Cassie Blanca,” Theo said. “She’s a songwriter using my studio tonight to record some demos. It’s good stuff. I think she’ll get groups interested if we get the songs to the right people. Cassie sings and normally she’d play the keyboards herself, but as you can see…”

Cassie’s left arm was in a sling. “I don’t know you,” she told Neal, as if that were a crime. With her good arm, she gestured toward a keyboard. “You’ve got 60 seconds to show me what you can do, and then I’ll decide if you’re good enough.”

“Cassie,” Theo pleaded. “There aren’t a lot of people with the skills you want available at the last minute. Neal’s good. Don’t antagonize him.”

Neal smiled to himself, accustomed to the artistic temperament Cassie displayed. He’d started piano lessons before he turned ten years old, following in a long tradition of Caffreys who loved and excelled in music. According to his grandfather, their branch of the family had been itinerant musicians in Ireland before coming to the States a few generations ago. Creating the duo Urban Legend with Henry had followed in that tradition, and it brought Neal in contact with many professional and hoping-to-go-pro musicians. He’d learned to take their tantrums in stride, to be amused by them.

And that’s one reason he knew that music would never be more than a beloved hobby, and that art was what he needed to study if he could afford Columbia. Because while he could be objective and amused about music, he couldn’t do that with his art.

He walked over to the keyboard. Unsure what Cassie’s genre was, he started with a rock beat, transitioned into a classical piece, and then gave her a pop ending. He was certain he’d gone over his minute, and the fact that she hadn’t yelled at him to stop was a good sign. “OK, I’m warmed up. Anything in particular you want to hear?”

Theo sighed in relief as Cassie handed Neal sheet music. She said, “We’re starting with this one.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Cassie was demanding, but she had reason to be. Her songs were excellent, and Neal enjoyed learning them. He was surprised she hadn’t sold any of them yet.

Most of the musicians packed up and left quickly at the end of the recording session, heading out to their next gigs or to the jobs that paid the bills. Cassie lingered, playing passages one-handed on one of Theo’s keyboards. Either she was dreaming up new songs, or simply appreciating instruments that struggling musicians couldn’t afford to own.

Neal went ahead and asked Theo, “You familiar with Masterson Music?”

To his surprise, Cassie stopped playing and said, “That place is bad news, Neal. I know they’re big, and it’s tempting to work with them when you’re looking for a break, but the best advice I can give you is to steer clear of them.”

“Is that personal experience talking?” he asked.

“I signed with them a year ago. Then I learned they weren’t interested in me at all. They’d signed me and a lot of new singers like me to get us off the market, because we sounded too much like ones they were already promoting. They wanted a limited set of singers for each ‘sound’ they were marketing, and felt we were diluting the market. They won’t produce anything I do, but I’m locked into an exclusive contract for five years. Since they aren’t using me, they aren’t paying me, but legally I can’t take money from anyone else to perform music. Fortunately they didn’t know I was starting to write songs, so they didn’t prohibit that in my contract. Selling songs is the only way I can support myself. Other than, you know, waitressing.”

Neal nodded. He’d heard the same story many times. A couple of years ago Henry had posted warnings online, hoping to keep musicians from signing with Masterson. But Masterson had leverage in the industry and convinced most sites to take down the so-called libelous remarks quickly. He could afford IT experts who could block and even track Henry’s activity. They’d had to give up on online warnings, instead relying on word-of-mouth. But it was hard to reach many people that way, and hard to convince them to turn down what sounded like lucrative contracts. And of course, some musicians did extremely well at Masterson Music, if you were one of the lucky few they decided to promote. Those were the names you’d find if you did a search on Masterson online.

In theory, people in Cassie’s position could sue to be released from their contracts, and even to collect damages under Masterson’s predatory practices. So far, no one had been successful. They couldn’t afford attorneys who could compete with Masterson’s. Even worse, those who filed lawsuits were labeled as troublemakers. Masterson had friends throughout the industry, and they refused to work with anyone on Masterson’s blacklist.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Neal said. He waited to see if Theo would comment on Masterson. When that didn’t happen, he asked Theo if he could point Neal to more work. “I can travel,” Neal added.

“Thought you had a day job.”

“Yeah, but I can be flexible for the next few weeks. I need some extra money. I’m trying to go to college in the fall, but I didn’t realize how expensive it was gonna be.”

“Not much here at my studio, but I have a friend in Las Vegas who said one of his acts was asking for a break. I’ll check around.”

“Thanks, man.” Neal decided he’d ask Theo about Masterson later. He had a feeling the guy had an opinion but didn’t want to share it in front of Cassie. There might still be a chance of getting him to join the crew, if Neal knew the right angle.

As Neal was about to head out, Cassie decided to leave. At the door to the studio, he considered turning around, pretending he’d forgotten something so that he could talk to Theo alone, but there was something about the way Cassie was watching Neal that made him keep walking. She had something else to say, maybe something about Masterson.

“Your name is Neal Legend?” she asked as the door closed behind them.

“That’s right.”

“Any relation to Shawn and Grace Legend?”

He shrugged. “I used to work with Shawn. Years ago. You wanna share a cab?”

“Sure. You know, I read about their split. That was epic. I commented on her site, telling her to forget him and move on as a solo artist. A lot of my friends said the same thing on their blogs. It drives me nuts how a guy in the 21st century can still be that misogynistic. He can’t admit a woman is as good as he is.”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t a gender issue. It’s an ego thing. No one is allowed to be better than Shawn. He said similar stuff to me when we split.”

“Good thing you quit working with him. It’s weird, though. I remember reading on the Urban Legend site that the group was originally two guys. Brothers, right? Was that you? But I thought it said Shawn’s brother died.”

“The best urban legends are ghost stories,” Neal said. Then he held up his arm to hail a passing cab. He opened the door and Cassie climbed in.

“Where’s your stop?” she asked. But by the time she turned around, Neal had melted into the shadows. “Neal?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Talking to Cassie had given Neal an idea. After disappearing on her, he left a message for Mozzie asking when he could meet. Then he took the subway home and called Noelle from his loft. To his surprise, she didn’t start by picking up their conversation about the DVD. Instead she asked if he still planned to attend his cousin Angela’s birthday party.

“Of course,” he said. Angela had stopped in New York during her spring break to attend his birthday party. The least he could do was join an event in her honor in Seattle. With any luck, Henry would show up, and Neal could talk to both of them about taking a different approach with Masterson. And more importantly, he could convince Henry to give up his dangerous plan to catch Robert. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I’m concerned about Angela,” Noelle said. “I’d like to get your opinion after you talk to her. It’s possible that my worry about Henry is making me overreact. But on the other hand, I know she had a hard time of it after her father died last summer. Henry kept telling me that he was checking in on her, and that she was coping in a healthy way. But I’d like to be sure, now that Henry’s…” She trailed off. Sadness always seemed to overtake her when she talked about her son. “I don’t want to annoy her by overreacting, but I also don’t want to ignore any lingering issues.”

“Are you asking me for a second opinion?” Neal asked.

“That’s right.”

He’d been multi-tasking, putting some things away while they talked, but now he sat down to focus on the call. “Me? The one who’s been in therapy the last few months?”

“Yes. You, Neal. You’re perceptive, you’ll be more objective than I am because you don’t know her well yet, and you helped Henry get his master’s in psychology so you know what to look for. I’d value your opinion.”

Her confidence in him was staggering. “Yeah. Sure, I can do that.”

“Thank you.” While she had him off-balance she said, “One quick exercise, and then I’ll let you go.”

They’d done this often enough that he knew the drill. He emptied his mind as much as he could, waiting for her off-the-wall question. All he had to do was give the first answer that popped into his mind. It wasn’t easy for him – Noelle said he had mastered the art of brooding and overthinking things – but he was getting better with practice. It helped that these exercises led to interesting insights, making him curious enough about the outcome to trust her with his unguarded thoughts. Keeping his mind a blank he said, “Ready.”

“You’re a character in a Disney cartoon. Tell me which one you are.”

“Umm.”

“Now, Neal.”

“Pinocchio,” he said.

“Tell me why.”

“He had issues with lying.” Neal paused. He knew Noelle well enough to guess she’d drag more out of him, so he went ahead and explained, “A con artist lies, constantly. I’m good at it. Often it’s easier than telling the truth, or dealing with the truth. But I… I can’t lie to Peter. I’ve wanted to sometimes, but wanting his trust has always won out.”

“Is Peter your Giuseppe, pulling your strings?”

Neal huffed out a laugh that was more of a sigh. “I think it’s more accurate to say Peter pushes my buttons, and he’d probably say the same thing about me. If anyone’s pulling my strings these days, it’s the FBI. They have so many rules about what we can do and how we can do it. It’s easy to trip over them. And I have to dance to their tune, or lose my job. As the boss Peter’s responsible for making sure I do what the FBI deems right, but he usually cuts me some slack.”

“Pinocchio didn’t feel real.”

“I guess that’s apt. As much as Peter tries to treat us all the same, we’re all aware I’m the only consultant on the team. The rest are _real_ agents. There’s stuff they can do, benefits they have, that I’m excluded from.” Like tuition assistance.

“It’s good to be aware of your situation, to acknowledge your limits, as long as it doesn’t affect your sense of self-worth. You don’t have to be like everyone else. Remember that the more unique and rare a jewel is, the higher its value. You don’t look at the Hope Diamond and say, ‘I wish it could be more like a normal diamond,’ do you?”

“I get it,” Neal said.

“I’m glad. I look forward to seeing you in Seattle. Goodnight, sweetie.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning Peter was back in the office. He stopped by Neal’s desk. “Sorry my meetings ran long Monday and I couldn’t get back to you. There was something you wanted to talk about?”

Neal had wanted to ask to get together again Sunday evening, hoping to get it right this time by thanking Peter for all he’d done, and even opening up about the memories of his mother that had flooded him on Father’s Day. But yesterday that plan had fallen by the wayside. He wasn’t going to invite himself over to the Burkes’ while anyone in the bullpen could hear, and he had new weekend plans now. Some of those plans depended on Tricia, who was currently stepping off the elevator. He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m good.” He glanced quickly at Peter, wondering if he’d be relieved that Neal wasn’t being too familiar in the office. But Peter wore his best poker face. Neal looked out toward his coworkers, who were standing up. “Time for the morning briefing.” He stood and walked a few steps with Peter, but made a point of stopping in the break area for coffee, so that they wouldn’t be seen walking into the conference room together.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped El was wrong about Neal needing space. It hit him squarely in the gut this morning when Neal didn’t want to talk, when he made a point of not walking upstairs together.

Was this what retired Agent Thomas Gardiner had warned Peter about? A young man Neal’s age didn’t stay in hero-worship mode for long, Thomas had said. Soon he’d realize his hero was as flawed as everyone else, and after a period of adjustment they could settle into friendship. Peter wracked his brain to figure out what might have disillusioned Neal.

Was it something to do with that DVD? Should Peter not have laughed at the scene of Irene with baby Neal? Neal had been so pensive afterward, eager to leave the house. Who knows what had been going through his head.

Or was it something to do with the Robert Winslow case, and his worry about Henry? Peter noticed Neal’s look of frustration in the morning briefing when Jones reported he could use some help on the case. Neal didn’t have a case, but there’s no way he could be assigned to work this one. That had to rankle.

At the end of the briefing, Tricia said, “One of my goals for this year was to do some coaching. I didn’t have much to say about that goal in my midyear accomplishments, and I need to fix that. Since I don’t have a case now, I’d like to focus on helping our two most junior team members for the rest of this week.”

That would be Jones and Neal. Peter nodded. He liked the idea of someone he trusted keeping an eye on Neal right now, with one caveat. “They can’t work on the same case.”

“Of course. Do you have time to review my plans now?”

Peter nodded. “Jones, Neal, let’s see what Tricia has in mind for you. Everyone else can get back to work.”

Her plan for Jones was straightforward and it made sense to offer him guidance in his task of looking for Robert. Jones would bring her up to speed on what had been done so far, and she would help him map out his next steps.

Then she moved on to her plan for Neal. “I think it’s safe to say that Neal prefers to learn by doing, so I’d like to put him on a case that would help him learn FBI procedures and practice some new skills.” She looked straight at Peter. “The Henry Winslow case.”

“What? There isn’t a Henry Winslow case. He’s gone off the rails looking for his father, and the last thing I want is to send Neal careening after him.”

“You’re right, there isn’t a Henry Winslow case now, but there was one in late 90s. He had been attending the University of Texas, but never showed up for any of his classes in the fall semester that started a shortly after his 20th birthday. A week into the semester he canceled his enrollment, citing health issues, and was refunded most of his tuition. No one could find him, and his family reported him missing. Occasionally he left a message for his parents, but refused to tell them where he was or if he was under any kind of coercion. Despite all the resources of Win-Win, they went months at a time without getting a single hit on his location. He didn’t show up again until March, when he got a voicemail from his mother telling him that Neal was missing. A few days later, Robert had us close the case, saying that Henry had been found and was safe. But to this day we have no idea where Henry was all that time, or how a 20-year-old could hide from the FBI and from Win-Win.”

“That must have driven Robert nuts,” Jones said. “From everything I’ve heard, the guy sounds like a control freak.”

Tricia nodded. “It’s unlikely he was content with Henry’s safe return. I have to assume that in the intervening years he researched how Henry eluded everyone, and is using what he learned to elude us now. My proposal is to have Neal look into that cold case, and to tell us what he learns. Then we can apply that knowledge to the Robert Winslow case.” She turned to Neal. “In return, you have to promise to turn all leads over to us if there’s any chance that they’ll point us to Robert. You are absolutely not to look for Robert, and if you have any reason to think you’ve uncovered his location, you let us know immediately, understood?”

“I got it.”

Peter studied Neal. “You really don’t know how Henry stayed under the radar all that time?”

Neal shrugged. “He taught me a lot of what he learned, but not how he learned all of it.”

Peter didn’t like this, and he started looking for ways to poke holes in Tricia’s plan. “I don’t suppose Henry was hiding in New York all that time? You know how tight the travel budget is.”

“He probably wasn’t in New York, but Tricia already warned me I’d need to do most of my research from the office. I’m already scheduled to take Friday off and travel to Seattle for Angela’s birthday. I can change my flights, make a few layovers, and not charge the FBI a dime for airfare or hotels. All I ask is to let me come back a few days later than planned, without burning vacation time since I’ll be working on a cold case. I’ll check in with Tricia while I’m away,” he promised. “You’ll always know what’s going on.”

“Tricia’s going on vacation,” Peter protested.

“It’s part of _my_ goals,” she said. “I’m willing to make the time for this. I can talk to Neal from the beach. And if I don’t answer, he’ll call you with his questions and progress reports.” Her phone beeped and she scrolled through a text message. “Sorry, it’s the daycare. My youngest isn’t feeling well. I need to call them.” She stepped out of the conference room and ducked down the corridor leading to the smaller meeting rooms. It was standard practice when someone wanted privacy for a call.

Before Peter could tell Neal to forget working this case, Barbara -- Hughes’ secretary -- walked in. “Agent Burke? The budget meeting has moved up. Can you join them? It’s in the same room as before.”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter managed not to swear at this untimely interruption as he stood up to gather the budget reports and laptop from his office. “Neal, we’re not done talking about this.”

Neal managed to look appropriately serious as he stood and returned to his desk, but Peter saw the light in his eyes. The kid thought he was going to get away with this.

Peter stepped into the room reserved for the budget meetings, but the only person there was Tricia. “Sorry for the subterfuge,” she said. “I called Barbara from the parking garage this morning and asked her to pull you into a budget meeting when I left the morning briefing.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Peter asked as he took the seat across the table from Tricia. “There’s no way Neal is going to limit himself to a cold case from the last decade. He’s going to look for Henry in the here-and-now, and that’s going to lead him toward Robert.”

“I know. Just like I know that his plea to me yesterday was part of a con. You have a brother, right?”

Peter took a deep breath at this sudden turn. He’d been prepared to chastise Tricia for letting Neal get involved in something dangerous, and now it seemed she was ahead of both of them. “Yeah. Joe. He’s about ten years older than me.”

“Maybe that’s the difference, then. Both of mine are younger. And both were astoundingly stubborn at Neal’s age. There was no reasoning with them. They drove our parents crazy. Being closer to their age I had better luck getting through to them, and I learned the best way to deal with them was to let them think I was going along with them. Sometimes I could start to steer them in another direction. Sometimes I couldn’t but at least I was on hand to help them when they crashed.”

“You’re telling me the answer is to let Neal do whatever the hell he wants?”

“I think we both know that there’s no stopping Neal from looking for Henry. We can call it a case and exert a level of control that way, or we can forbid him to do it and then fire him when he disobeys a direct order.” She paused while Peter took that in. “If you’ve decided he needs to leave the Bureau, then tell me and I’ll get out of the way. But I have to say I think that would be a poor decision. I’ve grown to respect his skills and… I like him, Peter. I see how we can be good for him, and how he can be good for White Collar. I want a way to keep him, and I think this is our best shot.”

As much as Peter wanted to say no, he could see the sense in what Tricia was saying. “I need to think this over.”

“Of course. I had all night to work through it. You need to catch up. I’m going to start working with Neal, and find out as much as I can about his plan while making suggestions to keep him safe. When your ‘budget meeting’ is over, pull him aside to tell him you won’t let him work the case.”

“It’s a foregone conclusion that I’m going to say _no_? Then why bother working with him while I think it over?”

Tricia grinned. “Because while I’m the encouraging big sister in this scenario, you’re the dad. It’s your job to say _no_. Anything else would be out of character. Then he’ll try to persuade you. If you really want him to think we aren’t on to him, you have to let him believe he’s conned you. We don’t want him to think I persuaded you. As far as he knows, this conversation never took place because I fell for his arguments yesterday.”

Peter leaned back in his chair, seeing his second-in-command in a new light. “Did your brothers ever figure out you were playing them?”

“Sometimes I would let them know, to make sure they remember I’m smarter than they are. I’m waiting until they have kids of their own before I share the full extent of my genius.”

“Neal’s pretty smart himself,” Peter warned.

“That’s why I’ll let him think I fell for most of the con, but not all of it. I want him to realize he has to stay on his toes around me, and that the best way to manage me is to let me in on at least part of what he’s doing.”

“I make it a point not to criticize FBI leadership in the office, but I have to make an exception today. They were idiots not to put you in charge of Missing Persons. And I’m finally starting to realize how lucky I am to have you on my team.”

“Thanks, Peter, that’s…” She trailed off and stared at the table a moment before continuing. “I did everything I could to be professional after Rice got the job, but I’ll admit I was bitter about it. You’ve done a lot to restore my faith in the Bureau. That’s one of the reasons the mentoring goal is important to me. I want to help others on the team keep their faith in law and order, and if anyone needs help in that area, it’s Neal. He needs to see that he can solve problems, like finding his cousin, _inside_ the system instead of circumventing us.”

Peter nodded, and kept thinking about her words after she left. Hadn’t that been the whole point of recruiting Neal, to show him the good he could achieve on the right side of the law? How could he keep Neal on the straight and narrow if he forced the kid to be an outlaw? Tricia was right; Neal would go outside the law to find Henry if the FBI told him not to help his family.

He tried to imagine that Joe was the one who’d gone missing. Would he really stand aside because FBI policy told him not to get involved in a case involving family? Officially, he might, but he was certain Hughes and others would unofficially keep him in the loop, rather than let him go rogue.

How much harder was it for Neal? To start, he didn’t trust the FBI the way Peter did. Even worse, no one was treating Henry’s disappearance as a case because they were all certain he’d reappear when Robert was located. But who knew what kind of trouble Henry was getting into, with no one to curb the desperate instincts of a reckless young man? If he found Robert at the same time the FBI did, he might act rashly, making things worse. They might lose Robert again, or perhaps have to kill him rather than arrest him if Henry threw them off their game.

Suppose he let Neal look for Henry. Suppose he found his cousin. Henry would try to convince Neal to let him continue on his path. He might even try to convince Neal to join him. If Neal found his loyalties divided between the FBI and his best friend, what choice would he make?

If Tricia was right, they couldn’t keep Neal from going after Henry, and their best hope was to be the angel on Neal’s shoulder, influencing him all along the way.

Peter checked his watch, surprised to see that more than an hour had passed. Time to confront Neal.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Umm, Neal?” Tricia directed Neal’s attention upstairs, where Peter stood in front of his office. He was giving Neal the double finger-point. “I think it’s time for me to work with Jones for a while.”

Neal nodded and headed into Peter’s office. He took a seat while Peter closed the door. “How was the budget meeting?”

“Torturous. Made all the worse by worrying about this case.”

Neal opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when Peter held up a hand.

“Remember when you told me that Michael Darling needed the FBI’s help?”

Neal nodded. It was the first case he’d worked with Peter, the first case he’d brought to the FBI. Half the challenge had been convincing Peter there was a case at all.

“My initial reaction was to tell you to forget it. It didn’t sound like much of a case, and it wasn’t in our jurisdiction.”

“But instead you told me to prove he needed our help. And I did,” Neal reminded him. “And then we found out who was threatening him.”

Peter leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “It still wasn’t much of a case. But I encouraged you because your interest in it was a good sign. It meant you wanted to do the job. Getting a taste of casework – solving puzzles, chasing down an answer – it was good for you. I wanted you to see for yourself that you belong here.”

“Swapping an addiction,” Neal said.

“Huh?”

“Something Byron said. He told me I was addicted to the cons. And he said working for the FBI let me exchange an illegal addiction for a legal one. That’s what was happening on that first case. You gave me a taste of something new.”

Peter looked taken aback. “I don’t care for an analogy that makes me into a drug dealer, Neal. And if you’re going to accuse me of sending you into withdrawal because I won’t let you work the case of your choice, this conversation ends right now.”

As much as Neal regretted offending Peter, it did serve the purpose of putting distance between himself and the boss. Hughes should be happy. “Sorry, I got sidetracked. What was your point about that first case?”

“Having an interest in a case is always a good sign. In normal circumstances it’s something I want to encourage. But some cases… Part of my job is steering you away from cases that could damage your career. This is one of those cases, Neal. You don’t have the objectivity to take it on.”

Neal relaxed, although he didn’t let it show in his posture. “That’s where Tricia comes in. She brings the objectivity. I bring the inside knowledge about Henry. Together we’re the perfect team for this case. Really, is it all that different from our first case? I was a big fan of Michael Darling’s music, but that didn’t stop me from solving the case. It worked out because you were with me, teaching me the FBI procedures and balancing me out.”

“It’s not the same thing. If you find Henry, he could ask you to do things, or to ignore things, that would jeopardize your position here. And because you think of him as a big brother, you’d be tempted to go along. You might even feel obligated. At least Michael wasn’t going to lure you away from the FBI.”

It was tempting to tell Peter that Michael had offered him another job, or at least a job lead, but that would take the conversation in a direction he didn’t want to go. “Like I said, that’s where Tricia comes in. The thing is…” He paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “I’m no expert on this HR stuff, Peter, but I know people. And I think Tricia needs this case as much as I do. Maybe more.”

Peter leaned back and laughed. “Tricia needs a vacation, and she’s about to take one. What makes you think she needs to have this case on her hands when she’s supposed to be relaxing?”

“She wanted that lead role at Missing Persons, more than she lets on. It’s great that you treat her as a senior member of the team, but it doesn’t make up for what she nearly had. This mentoring stuff, it’s the closest she can get to being a manager, and you’ve kept her too busy being just another agent –”

“Senior agent,” Peter interrupted.

“Too busy being a senior agent,” Neal acknowledged, “to have any time for that. Sure, she came to White Collar to get away from Rice, but also because she expected you’d treat her with more respect than Rice would. You’ve gotta acknowledge that she has management potential, or you’re dashing her dreams again.”

“Are you telling me… You think she’d quit if I don’t let her mentor you through this case?”

Neal leaned forward, going in for the kill. “Are you certain this vacation is just a trip to the beach? Are you certain those half days she took recently were really because her kids were sick? I’m no expert, but how often do kids get colds and sinus infections in June?”

“You think she’s interviewing for another job.” Peter frowned.

“I think she’s feeling a twinge of guilt about it, and she’s giving you one last chance to show her that you value her full skill set. Honestly, Peter, does she have a long-term career at the FBI that includes moving to your level someday? If not, tell us we can’t work this case and she can quit with a clean conscience.”

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose Tricia.” He looked directly into Neal’s eyes. “And I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Neal hadn’t expected that. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah. None of that impassioned argument about not driving Tricia away was fueled by your own frustration with the Bureau? You think I don’t know how tempting it must be to walk if I don’t let you look for Henry? I’ve considered how I’d feel in your shoes, and what the Bureau would need to do to rein me in.”

Neal couldn’t help being curious. It was so hard to think of Peter as rebellious. “What would they need to do?”

“They’d have to keep me informed, show me they were doing everything possible and making progress. And if I had relevant information, they’d have to listen to me and act on that information. If I didn’t believe they would do that, that they would take the case seriously and show me that level of respect, I couldn’t continue working for the Bureau. So I get it, Neal. I understand why you can’t let this case go. But you need to understand my position, too. I need you to show me and the Bureau the same level of trust and respect that you’re asking of us. Full disclosure, Neal. You keep Tricia and me aware of all your plans and all your findings. If we ask you to put a halt to what you’re doing while we strategize, you follow our orders. We do this as a team. Don’t go lone wolf on us. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Neal said.

He went back to his desk and worked with Tricia on his plans. And in the evening he went running in a local park. Back in high school, he’d learned that running track was a good way to deal with his flight instinct. Outrunning others helped him achieve a sense of escape. Tonight he ran to decompress from a new stress. Because telling Peter he agreed to the deal was the first time Neal had lied to him.

He kept telling himself that maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe he wouldn’t have to hide anything from the FBI. But he didn’t really believe that full disclosure was in the cards, not if he stuck to his plan of playing Find the Lady.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masterson Music is not based on a real company, and I’m not an expert on the music industry. 
> 
> See Choirboy Caffrey for the Michael Darling Case. I’ve posted Neal’s audition for Cassie to the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board. 
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for suggestions for this chapter. Thanks everyone for reading and for your encouragement.


	6. Play it Again Sam

**Peter’s office. Thursday morning. June 24, 2004.**

Jones knocked on Peter’s door minutes before the morning briefing was scheduled to start. “Hey, Neal called. He heard from Marshal Brandel again, and he’s gonna be late.”

“Who’s Marshal Brandel?” Peter asked.

Jones closed the door. “He didn’t tell you? Couple days ago he got a call from the Marshals. They wanted to talk about his finances, implied he might be on the take. You know, tied back to the leak about his mother’s location.”

Peter frowned. “There’s been another leak?”

“No. They’re still looking into the incident four months ago.”

“And they’re treating Neal as a suspect? They’re either incompetent or there’s something incredibly fishy going on.”

“Exactly what we thought,” Jones agreed.

There were a dozen questions Peter wanted to ask, but the team was gathering in the conference room. He had a meeting to lead.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

This time Annina Brandel didn’t call first. She was waiting for Neal outside the mansion, and asked him to walk to Riverside Park with her. He agreed, but took the precaution of calling Jones first so someone would know where he’d gone and who he was with – just in case Annina was working for Robert. She didn’t object, waiting patiently for Neal to make the call.

When they reached a bench in a secluded area of the park, Annina asked him to sit down. She sat beside him. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me again.”

“No call or email to schedule this little rendezvous. Not meeting in the Marshals’ offices. Are we off the books?” Neal asked.

“Until I figure things out, yeah,” Annina said. “After the last time, I requested access to your files and your mother’s files. The request was denied because I’m not assigned to any work related to either of your cases.”

Neal studied her. “You were removed from the investigation into my finances?”

“I was never on it. There’s no evidence that such an investigation was ever opened. The email giving me the order to talk to you vanished, as if it had never been sent. When I talked to my boss, he claimed he had no idea what I was talking about. He seemed completely unfamiliar with your name, much less any assignment to talk to you.”

“Any theories about where this phantom assignment came from?”

“Not yet. I had already filed my initial report, although we can’t find any trace of that, either. My boss and I decided not to raise any flags. We’re going to pretend we aren’t suspicious, and if I get a follow-up request we’ll try to trace it back to its source. It almost has to be an inside job, so I wanted to warn you.”

Neal gazed unseeing at the Hudson River. Her news wasn’t a surprise. He’d suspected someone was using the Marshals to get information or to cause trouble, or both. What did surprise him was Annina’s willingness to admit the Marshals might be at fault. Was she telling him the truth? Or was she part of the plot, spinning this story to gain his trust? “I appreciate it. Will you keep me informed?”

“As much as I can without letting the culprit realize I’m onto him,” she promised.

If she was telling the truth, she could be a useful member of his crew. He opened the door a crack to that possibility with a suggestion. “Sounds like whoever’s behind this has serious computer skills. You trying to access those files again could make him or her suspicious – they’re probably tracking your activity and hits against data about me. But you can keep working old school.”

“More clandestine meetings in the park?” she asked.

“In a sense. There are a couple of people who might be able to help you. Marshal Simon Preston in St. Louis could access the files without raising suspicion, if you can find a reason to talk to him. He helped me establish my post-WITSEC identity and get the birth certificate I needed to work for the FBI. And there’s a retired Marshal, Mike something, who was assigned to my family when I was a kid. If you could track him down, he could probably give you a lot of background from memory, because he lived our case for years.”

Annina faced him on the park bench, studying his expression. “We got off to a bad start. I wasn’t sure you’d even talk to me. And now you trust me enough to help me?”

Neal smiled. “I haven’t decided yet. But I trust Simon and Mike. If you can convince them to help you, that will tell me a lot.”

She nodded. “It’s a test. Exactly the kind of reaction I’d expect from someone who’s been in WITSEC. Trust, but verify.”

“Words to live by.” Neal stood up. It was time to go to work. “And I do want to live, Annina. I’m counting on you to let me know if you find out there’s a danger to me or my friends.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal slipped into the conference room minutes before the morning briefing ended. Peter asked him to stay behind to catch up on a few items.

Peter had been standing for the briefing, but as everyone else filed out of the room he took a seat across the table from Neal.

What was going on? The kid kept his eyes trained on a notepad in front of him, rather than look at Peter. He’d called Jones instead of Peter to leave the message that he’d be late. He hadn’t mentioned this Marshal Brandel.

Instead of leaving with the others, Jones stood beside the table. When the other agents had left he said, “Listen, Peter, I’m the one who dropped the ball here. When you were out on Tuesday, Neal reported his discussion with the Marshal to me, thinking it might be relevant to my case. I told him I agreed that this sounded like something Robert Winslow would instigate. Once I said I’d look into it, it was on me to keep you informed.”

Peter nodded. Jones was right, from a procedural perspective. But he was still surprised Neal hadn’t said anything to him about it. Neal and secrets went hand-in-hand. He was getting used to that aspect of Neal’s personality, but keeping secrets about something like this – keeping him out of the loop with regard to a case – that bucked the recent trend of trust they’d been building.

Maybe he was overreacting. He tried to look at this logically, as an FBI team lead. “Neal, I’m glad you’re comfortable taking information directly to the agent working the relevant case. If you’d waited until I returned, Jones would have been working without valuable information for a full day. But as a lesson to both of you, when collaborating on a case with someone, make sure you’re clear on who is going to update your boss about any new leads, so that I and everyone else up the chain can provide the support you need.”

Jones nodded. “Anything useful from your conversation with Brandel this morning, Neal?”

Neal summarized what he’d learned and then asked, “How many people in the FBI know I was in WITSEC?”

Was this the core issue? Neal felt his secrets were being shared too widely, and that made him reluctant to share more? Neal had selected Peter as the one person in the FBI to know this secret. At least Peter could assure him that the news wasn’t being broadcast to the full team. “Jones and Hughes know under the NDA they signed with Win-Win. All Hughes knows is that you were in WITSEC as a child. Jones got more background. None of that is going in your personnel file or the FBI case file.”

With a simple “Thanks,” Neal gathered his notebook and pen and returned to his desk.

 _Give it time_ , Peter told himself. It wasn’t unusual for victims in a case to feel they were under as much scrutiny as the suspects. If Neal thought his privacy had been a casualty of the Robert Winslow case, he would need the opportunity see for himself that they were respecting his boundaries.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was going to be out of the office Friday through Monday, so Peter asked for a meeting Thursday afternoon with Neal and Tricia to hear what they had planned. “How do you plan to investigate Henry Winslow’s disappearance in the late 1990s?” he asked, referring to the cold case that Neal was pretending to investigate. Peter knew Neal would be looking for Henry in the here-and-now, and was curious to learn how Tricia planned to keep him from going overboard.

The first step had been watching Neal make the travel arrangements. Non-refundable flights to Austin Friday morning, to Seattle Saturday morning, and then to Las Vegas Sunday afternoon.

“No hotel in Austin?” Peter noted, looking at the itinerary.

“I’m going to crash with old friends of Henry’s from his college days. Gives me a chance to look for signs he’s been hanging around.”

That didn’t add up. Neal was 25, and his cousin was a few months away from turning 28. “Wouldn’t all of his college friends have graduated and moved on by now?” Peter asked.

“Not this one,” Tricia said. “We spoke with Lawson Hunter, an attorney in Austin who considered himself a mentor of Henry’s. He has a daughter Henry’s age – not a girlfriend, at least not currently, as she’s engaged to be married over the Labor Day weekend – but they clearly think of Henry as family, and they were eager to see Neal again. They wouldn’t think of letting him stay in a hotel.”

Peter looked up at Neal. “An attorney acting as a mentor for a psychology major? How did that happen?”

Neal shrugged. “Right place, right time.” He finally glanced at Peter and seemed to read the impatience on his face. “Shannon – that’s Lawson’s daughter – was at a water park near the end of the summer break. Henry was working there, and was trying to get the park’s management to close down a feature that he thought was dangerous. It was a bungee jump, and he was insisting the rope needed to be replaced. Finally he broke in line ahead of Shannon to take the jump himself and show everyone what he meant. The rope snapped, dumping him in the rapids below. He hit a few rocks, got banged up and nearly drowned. If he hadn’t insisted on going ahead of her, it would have been Shannon who went into the water. The Hunter family have been big Henry fans ever since. I think Lawson had a hand in Henry going off the radar while he recovered, and I plan to find out exactly how.”

Peter looked to Tricia to see if she had anything to add. “I’ve checked out Lawson Hunter,” she said. “He specializes in contract law, and has no criminal record. He had a son named Shawn who died as an infant. An interview shortly after the incident at the water park had Shannon’s grandmother saying that Shawn had often appeared to her in dreams, and she was convinced he had possessed Henry that day in order to save his sister’s life. She even claimed Henry might be the reincarnation of Shawn. Interestingly, Henry’s name was kept out of the news reports. He didn’t have any ID on him when he took his swan dive into the river, and afterward Lawson Hunter – claiming he was acting as Henry’s advocate – refused to give the hero’s name to the papers. The only reason I know Henry was the rescuer was Lawson’s reaction and confirmation when we called him yesterday afternoon.”

Neal chuckled. “It’s OK, Peter. Neither Henry nor I believe he was possessed. He was just his usual, stubborn self. The Hunter family is eternally grateful to him. Unlike me, they’re not known associates of Henry’s, at least as far as Robert or even Winston-Winslow are concerned. I need to talk to each of the Hunters about what’s going on with Henry now, see their reactions, and convince them to let me know if he contacts them.”

“Shawn Hunter,” Peter said. “I can’t help noticing the coincidence here. You’ve been referring to a mysterious Shawn since I first recruited you. Usually you imply he’s a friend of Henry’s. But it’s more than that. He uses that name as an alias, doesn’t he?”

Neal looked down at the table and took a deep breath. Then he met Peter’s eyes. “Yeah, sometimes he goes by that name. Please, don’t tell his family. It’s a long story. But like I said all along, Shawn is just a mischief-maker, not a criminal.”

“I’ve gotta tell Jones,” Peter insisted. “It could be relevant to his search for Robert. But we’ll try to keep it out of the files we share with Win-Win.”

Neal looked grateful for the concession.

Picking up the itinerary again, Peter said, “I don’t see a hotel in Seattle, either.”

“My grandparents booked rooms for all of us,” Neal said, “at a hotel on the waterfront. It’s near the site of Angela’s birthday party.”

“We’ll need to know where you’re staying,” Peter said. “I want the Seattle branch of the FBI to be aware of your location in case Robert decides to crash the party.”

Neal rolled his eyes. “As much as I wish Henry would show up at the party, I know he won’t. Robert has to know the same thing. There’s no reason to be on the lookout for him.”

“Other than the fact that he’s been looking for an opportunity to kill you,” Peter countered.

Tricia lifted a sheet of paper with handwritten notes on it. “There’s no need to argue about this. I already have the information. I spoke with Noelle Winslow this morning. The family is staying at the Edgewater, and the birthday dinner is at Anthony’s on Pier 66.” She smiled smugly. “And the Las Vegas reservations are at Caesar’s Palace. I’ve set up travel alerts from the airlines, hotels and the TSA; I’ll get text messages as Neal checks in for his flights, goes through security, and checks into his hotels. I also have reminders to check manually if the expected alerts don’t arrive. I have the phone numbers of the airlines and hotels, and I’ve given that information to a clerk here who will double check in case I’m out of cell phone range. In addition, Neal will check in with me every 6 hours unless he’s on a plane. He should be perfectly safe, Peter.”

“You’re confident this is a good plan?” Peter asked her.

“It’s the best option available to us,” Tricia promised.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal didn’t crack a smile until he left the Federal Building. Letting Peter figure out that Henry used the Shawn Hunter alias was a calculated risk. It came perilously close to the Shawn Legend alias, but it should satisfy Peter’s puzzle-solver instinct. Let him figure something out, while acting unhappy that he got the truth, and then he should back off a while to savor the victory.

Tricia had been relentless about the itinerary, and her planned frequent checks for his safety were a challenge. She’d given him an FBI-issued phone to use on this trip, with GPS, so they could track him down if he didn’t call on schedule. He had to respect her dedication and creativity. Fortunately he possessed those same traits.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter waited until he was home to call Agent Tricia Wiese. “What do you think?” he asked. “Did we win that round, or does it go to Neal?”

“I’m going to call it a draw,” Tricia said. “I know I slipped in more oversight than he wanted. We’ll keep him safe from Robert, and keep reminding him he’s responsible to the FBI. On the other hand he was very sketchy about his plans in Las Vegas.”

“I agree. Identifying Henry’s alias was a win, but I can’t help feeling Neal purposely tipped his cards to distract us from something else. Check with Jones in the morning. Have him track down any records of Shawn Hunter that point to Henry using that alias, in the 90s and now. You follow up on the Las Vegas angle. Neal once told me he had been arrested in Vegas, after being mistaken for Henry. I want to dig deeper. Look into exactly when it happened, what were the charges, who bailed him out, and anything else that tells us why Neal wants to return to the scene of the crime.”

“I’m on it,” Tricia promised. “Jones and I will get a report to you before I leave on my vacation.”

They ended the call and Peter absently petted Satchmo. He hoped Tricia was right in her assumption that the frequent checks and contact would keep Neal on the right side of the law.

Trying to stay on the positive side, Peter reminded himself that Neal could be safer traveling. For the last several months, Peter had frequently asked Neal to stick to a simple, known schedule and routes so that they could have agents assigned on a regular basis to be in his vicinity in case Robert made another attempt on his life. That had to be boring for someone like Neal, and the predictability of his schedule that made him easier to protect also made it easier for Robert to anticipate where Neal would be and when. Neal heading out of town like this, with his last-minute schedule changes, might throw Robert off his game.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Some days called for a release valve, and Neal knew exactly where to turn. Randy Weston’s music shop sponsored amateur night at the neighboring bar on Thursdays. It would be an excellent chance to get in more practice. Neal had used the mansion’s music room when he could, aware that the upcoming Masterson con required him to keep up his skills, but that focused on the technical aspect. The actual performance to an audience was important to practice, too. Neal took a chance and called on his way home from work, and Randy promised to fit him in. He stopped by his apartment long enough to change into more casual clothes and to pick up his guitar, and made it to the bar with time to eat before the singers needed to set up.

Singing to a live audience was a great way to channel his frustrations. Henry had taught him that anger, sorrow and regret could all be poured into songs, and the audience responded with excitement and pleasure to fill the space he’d purged of excess emotions. He supposed it was similar to the adrenaline rush of a con or a heist. Or an undercover op, now that he worked for the FBI. But in the end the rush of musical performances didn’t satisfy him the way his art did, and that’s how he knew art was what he needed to study at Columbia, while music would remain a hobby.

Neal sang two songs in the first rotation, playing his guitar and singing backup for the other three singers who were with him. Then he hung out at the bar to listen to the second rotation. Randy sat beside him and ordered a beer. He was an African-American man in his mid-fifties. “Been a while,” Randy commented.

Neal nodded. It had been nearly two months since he’d been around. He’d stopped showing up when he’d started cramming for his entrance exams. “Aren’t you usually in your shop for these things?” Typically Randy sent a group to sing rock in the bar, and lined up other singers for pop songs in his store. He served beer and wine to customers during these events, encouraging those who dropped in to buy their own instruments in the hopes of sounding as good as the people he had lined up to perform.

“Sam’s running it tonight. Says I get in the way.”

Neal hadn’t met Randy’s daughter Samantha, but recalled a few remarks from Henry. Sam was another musician who signed with Masterson and then had her dreams crushed. Henry said she’d try to kill herself. “She doing OK?” he asked Randy. He’d like to include Randy in his crew, but not if it made things harder for Sam.

“You heard she overdosed? Scariest time of my life. The last year she’s been living with her grandparents, takin’ things at a slower pace while she detoxed. She’s in business school, now. Started this summer. At first she didn’t want anything to do with music, said she couldn’t face it knowing she couldn’t even try to make a living performing for five years. But a couple of weeks back she asked to work in the store again. Calls it her fix. Worries me a bit, since she’s got addiction issues, but she tells me this is a good fix.”

Neal thought about Sam’s situation. “I know what she means. You ever consider offering music lessons through the shop? That might win you some customers tempted by an instrument they don’t know how to play.”

“Yeah, Sam’s talking about that.”

“A music expert with a business degree sounds like a rare combination. She might be able to find work outside your store. Maybe at a recording studio?” Neal wondered if Theo Guy could use help managing the studio. “No promises, but I could ask around and let you know if anyone needs an intern or some kind of assistant.”

Randy looked surprised. “You got those kind of contacts, and you aren’t going pro?”

“I considered it when I was a kid.”

Randy chuckled. “You’re still a kid, hotshot.”

“Speaking of people who should go pro, I haven’t seen Shawn Legend in a long time.”

“He drops in every few weeks,” Randy said. “Back around the start of the year he said he’d send you my way. He’s been in, maybe monthly since then, looking at my guitars. I got one I’m holding for him in the back room. He put down the deposit in March, and keeps telling me he’s almost got the rest.”

Interesting. Henry Winslow came from a wealthy family. Even though Randy stocked several very expensive guitars, Henry could have put any one of them on a credit card and not hit his limit. “You think he’d mind if I took a look at it?” Neal asked.

He talked Randy into it, and when he was alone with the guitar in the back of the shop Neal examined the instrument and the case. The interior of the case was lined with fabric, and Neal found a slit in the seam. He pulled out a business card for Stan Masterson. On the back, scrawled in Henry’s handwriting, was a phone number and the words “in case of emergency.” Neal programmed the number into his phone. Then he put the guitar back in its case and went back into the main shop area to thank Randy. “If you see Shawn again, will you tell him his brother needs to talk to him? It’s important.”

Randy nodded, and Neal left suspecting that the shop owner had already been recruited to Henry’s crew. Maybe he’d join Neal’s team, if Neal came through with a job for Sam. With that thought in mind, he called Theo Guy. Theo was wrapping up a recording session and couldn’t talk long, but said he’d consider the idea of an assistant. “There’s plenty of work,” Theo said. “I just gotta figure out if I can afford to hire anyone yet.”

Moments after Theo hung up, he called Neal back. “Hey, I was supposed to get a social security number from you the other night.”

Neal had intended to give Shawn Hunter’s SSN. The Hunters had filed for the number the day their son was born. They should have filed another set of paperwork when the boy died two weeks later, but Mrs. Hunter couldn’t handle it. Emotions were running high and she asked her husband not to erase Shawn’s existence so soon. Years went by and they’d never gotten around to providing the death certificate to the agency that would release the number. As a result, Henry had been able to step into an alternate identity that could stand up to government scrutiny and mystify Win-Win. By using that SSN, Neal could collect payment and not have the transaction tracked to him, protecting his Neal Legend identity from any legal association with Neal Caffrey.

But now Peter was aware of Shawn Hunter. He’d probably have an agent look up everything the FBI could find about that alias, and that would include tax and revenue records. Connections between Shawn Hunter and Neal Legend needed to be avoided.

Well, it wasn’t a lot of money. Not compared to what he needed for tuition. “Tell you what. Give it to the cancer research charity again.”

“You got it,” said Theo, and he was gone.

Mozzie called as Neal was in sight of the mansion. “I got your message. I was working a job in Boston, but I got back in town an hour ago. You still need my expertise?”

“Yeah. You bring a secure laptop, and I’ll provide the wine. It’s time to spin a conspiracy theory, and I want the best.”

“I’m on my way,” Mozzie promised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time in the AU that we’ve encountered a character who has attempted suicide. If you or someone you know is contemplating suicide, Cornwankies from the AO3 site recommended a great essay that offers encouragement to keep holding on to life. Search “Matt Fraction suicide letter” to read it.
> 
> My usual thanks to amazing beta reader Silbrith, who continues to provide inspiration for future chapters and future stories. I hope you’re reading her Woman in Blue which is part of this Caffrey Conversation AU; she posts new chapters on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
> 
> The next chapter in my story is titled Ghost Stories. It features a fun scene with Mozzie, and memories of Neal’s life in the weeks after he ran away from home.


	7. Ghost Stories

**Riverside Drive.  Thursday night.  June 24, 2004.**

When Neal stepped inside the mansion, he saw June at the piano.  She seemed to be humming, lost in a memory, and Neal hesitated.  As long as he was going to take Mozzie into his confidence, should he include his landlady, too?  She had a lot of contacts, and could be formidable when she wasn’t consumed with sorrow.  She’d mentioned a need to be left alone to work through her grief, and he understood that.  But she couldn’t spend every moment grieving, either.

“June?”

She looked up.  “Neal, I didn’t hear you come in.  Did you need anything?”

“Mozzie’s coming over soon.  I asked for his help on a… on a case,” he said, still wanting to call it a con.  “It might be something you’re interested in.  It involves music.  Do you want to join us?”

For a moment he thought she was going to say _yes_ , but then she shook her head.  “Thank you, Neal, but not tonight.”

“Let me know if you change your mind.  This case is gonna to take a while.”  He took a step toward the staircase and then paused.  “I’m traveling for this one.  I’m leaving town tomorrow morning and won’t get back till Monday night.  And there may be more trips after that.  Are you gonna be OK?”

June walked to him, taking his hands.  “You’re very sweet.  I’ll be fine.”  She kissed his cheek and then walked away.

About half an hour later, Neal let Mozzie into his apartment.  Mozzie made a show of checking for bugs, then made an equal show of tasting and approving the wine Neal had selected.  Then he finally opened his laptop.  “You mentioned a conspiracy.  Do you need a suggestion?  Because I’ve been looking for the right forum to announce that the NSA is dabbling in quantum computers in order to track us and hack us even more –”

“No,” Neal interrupted.  “I already have a conspiracy in mind.”  His own laptop was open and he showed Mozzie an entry in Cassie Blanca’s blog, describing her meeting with Neal Legend.  She mentioned the way he had disappeared, and the rumors that he was dead. 

She’d wrapped up with, “Was it a ghost?  Let me know if you’ve heard of any recent Neal Legend sightings.”

“Interesting,” Mozzie said.  “We don’t normally delve into the paranormal, but I have my own theories about ghosts.”  Already he was running a search.  “This Urban Legend group is perfect for spinning a conspiracy.  Almost no photos of them posted online.  The few out there tend to be too blurry to make a good identification.  You know, I predict within a year we’ll have video-sharing sites that will make this type of anonymity the thing of the past for a group like Urban Legend.  Hundreds of people will post footage of concerts and performances and be able to search on keywords that –”

“Yeah, well you’re stuck in 2004, Mozz.  Henry had a con in mind to make Urban Legend big news.  It starts with the split between Shawn and Grace, and then moves into speculation about the group and their former member, all leading to a single goal.  He wants to get the attention of Masterson Music, so they’ll offer Urban Legend a contract.  That gives us insiders who can get the information we need to bring the company’s corruption to light.”  Neal refilled Mozzie’s glass and sat down.  “It involves a lot of performances and sightings to feed interest and get press.  And that’s gonna take a long time.  But if we had someone computer savvy on our crew, someone with multiple online identities to keep Urban Legend a topic on blogs and music forums, things could move a lot faster.  What Cassie posted is exactly what we wanted.  I’m looking for you to pick up from there weaving a conspiracy that she and others like her won’t be able to resist.  Keep them talking, until Masterson can’t help hearing.”

Mozzie was already running more searches.  “Masterson Music are bottom feeders.  It would be a pleasure to bring their slimy practices to light.”  He sipped more wine.  “This Urban Legend group is fascinating.  These are obviously stage names, and the members’ real names are carefully hidden.  That could be an interesting twist in the conspiracy.”

“No, Mozz,” Neal insisted.  “Stick to whether the band members will reunite, and the competitiveness between them.  Don’t send anyone on a hunt for their real identities.”

“Fine, fine,” Mozz said.  “I’ll leave that out, but I’m sure I can find out who they are.”

“Don’t waste your time.  I can tell you who they are.”

“Shh.  I don’t want to be influenced by your guess.”

“It’s not a guess.  I’ve met them.”

“No!”  Mozzie insisted.  “There are any number of means available to confuse you on that score.  Your mind and senses can be misled by drugs, optical illusions, hypnotism…  The list goes on.  I have to be certain who we’re dealing with before I spin a conspiracy around them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”  Neal shook his head and took away Mozzie’s wine glass.  He interrupted his friend’s protests with, “I’ll return it after you listen to me.  Henry created Urban Legend years ago.  He’s Shawn Legend.  Angela is Grace, and I’m the ghost.  We don’t want anyone to know we’re the members.  That’s why I brought this to you instead of to the FBI IT department.  I need to have information posted about the group, without it being traced back to me or my cousins.”

Mozzie didn’t pout, but he did seem to be deflated.  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that Shawn Legend is the love child of John Lennon?”

“We wouldn’t have to worry about Robert in that case.  Unfortunately, no.  Shawn is Henry, and Henry’s really a Winslow.”  Neal returned the wine glass.  “Make it a great conspiracy, Mozz, but don’t draw the attention of Robert, Win-Win or the FBI.”

“I would have discovered their identities on my own,” Mozz muttered.

“I’ve had to be very careful to keep you from figuring it out,” Neal said to mollify his friend.  Soon Mozz was absorbed in the online world, and Neal packed for his trip.  He’d be catching the red-eye to Austin in the morning.  When he got tired, he dimmed the lights in the apartment and went to bed, knowing his friend would come out of his computer trance in his own sweet time.

He should have guessed that his mind would drift to the party that followed the first concert he’d seen Shawn Legend perform in.  It seemed inevitable, now that he thought about it.  This afternoon he’d talked to Peter about addictions, then in the evening Randy had mentioned Sam’s experiences with overdosing, and even Mozzie had referred to drugs.  

The band that had hired Henry invited them to a party at the home of a friend.  Neal was never really clear who was the host, or how the host knew the band.  The house was filled with so many people it was getting hard to breathe.  There was music, and dim lights, and alcohol, and then someone offered something to Henry.  Neal couldn’t hear what they said to him, or what Henry said in return, but he could figure out what was going on.  He grabbed Henry’s arm and kept pulling until they were both outside.

“Was that cocaine?” Neal asked, keeping his voice low so they wouldn’t be heard as more guests arrived.

Henry shrugged.  “That’s what he said.”

“And you were going to take it?”  Neal still spoke softly, but couldn’t hide his anger.

“Did you want some?” Henry asked flippantly.  “I wasn’t going to hog it all.  You just had to ask.”

“You… That’s it.  I’m outta here.”  Neal started walking to Henry’s car.

“What are you gonna do?” Henry asked, following.

“I’m grabbing my stuff and then I’ll hitch a ride.”

“Hitch a ride where?”

“Anywhere.  I don’t care.  Away from you.  I spent my childhood dealing with an addict.  In and out of rehab.  All the promises she couldn’t keep about staying clean.  I’m not going back to that.”

Henry ran ahead of Neal, sat on the hood of his car, and tossed his keys up in the air, snatching them before Neal could grab them.  “Finally.  I was starting to think you’d never tell me about it.”

“I’m not telling you.”

Henry dangled the keys.  “You are if you want your stuff.”

“I’ll just break a window.”

“Oh, come on.  That’s just lame.  Tell me about it, and I’ll show you how to get into this car any time you want.”

Neal eyed him warily.  “You mean like break in?

“That’s one way.  Or you could pick my pocket and take the keys.”

“You can teach me that?”

“Mmm.  Not in one night, but yeah, I can teach you that.”

“How’d you learn?”

Henry leaned back against the windshield.  “My dad taught me.  He was a cop when I was a kid.  He wanted me to learn stuff like that, you know, tricks of criminals, so that I could be a good cop someday.”

Neal tried to imagine Henry as a cop, but couldn’t see it.  He would like to learn the things Henry had described.  Those skills could come in handy, especially if he was on his own.  He didn’t really want to be alone, but some things were a deal-breaker.  “I’m not sticking around if you do drugs.”

“Yeah, I get that.  Listen, filling in for band members is part of how I get by.  I like to know who’s into drugs, and then see whether they have a serious enough habit that I should practice to fill in for them.”

“You weren’t going to take the coke?” Neal asked.

Henry sighed.  “I’m gonna be honest with you.  I can’t tell you I’ve never tried it.  But tonight I was looking for a reaction, hoping you’d finally admit your mom was an alcoholic.”

“How’d you know?”

“You said some stuff in the hospital when your fever was bad.”

Neal felt a moment of blind panic as he flashed back to some of the things he’d remembered and said under the influence of that fever and the medications he’d been given.  “Th- That wasn’t real.”

He blinked to see Henry standing in front of him.  “Enough of it was.  Come on.  We can talk about it at the hotel.  We’re getting room service tonight.”  He held up a hotel key card.  “Lifted it off the lead singer.  He’s already passed out on the couch in there.  Someone might as well use his room.”

Then Neal transitioned from remembering to dreaming.  Duelling nightmares chased him until he woke with a start when his alarm clock sounded.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie was gone, but he’d left notes that Neal reviewed while drinking coffee.  The first set grouped sites by target audiences: musicians, music industry execs, radio DJs & producers, music critics, and music fans.  The next set of notes outlined a strategy for engaging each of those groups.  Neal visited some of the sites and saw Mozz had put the first stage of his plan in motion.  In some cases he’d posted comments about Urban Legend or their members.  In other cases he’d been more cryptic, referring more generically to urban legends and ghost stories.  And in one case he’d hacked the advertising feed on a site, replacing an ad with the words “The best Urban Legends are Ghost Stories” over an image of “The Scream.”  It looked like an album cover, and would lead to speculation about whose album it was and when it would be released.

The last notes from Mozzie were the ID and password to access a site he’d called Urban Legend Analytics, where Neal could find counts of how many people had seen the items Mozzie had posted, how many had followed links to the Urban Legend or Urban Chaos sites, and how many people had posted related comments on any of the sites.  Neal didn’t have time to look at the metrics now, and didn’t expect much traffic yet, but he memorized the credentials so he could check the results later.

He called Mozzie as he locked the door to his apartment and headed downstairs.  “Thanks, man,” Neal said.  “I was afraid you’d go over the top, but that showed real finesse.”

“The best conspiracies, like urban legends, sneak up on you,” Mozzie said.  “They don’t hit you over the head.  Not at first, anyway.  Right now I’m looking into Masterson.  They’ve been dodging some bad press about their staff.  There’s a DUI and an assault and battery, all swept under the carpet.  The worst was someone using the company’s distribution channels for CDs to ship child porn.”

“Ugh.”

“When you’re closer to making your move, let me know and I’ll shed a light on these.  They’ll be eager to move the spotlight to signing a contract with an exciting new group.”

“Good thinking.  We’ll also need more content for the Urban Legend site,” Neal said, “something to keep people coming back to see what’s new.”  He put down his luggage at the front steps to lock the mansion’s gate behind him. 

“Let me know when one of you is going to do something newsworthy.  And a recording of some performances would be good.  Not many people have actually heard Urban Legend’s songs.”

“Yeah, I’m working on that.”  A town car driver had walked up and nodded at Neal, who gestured his approval for the driver to take the luggage.  Neal walked toward the open door of the backseat.  “I should have something for you in a few days on both fronts.  Do you need a specific file format?  There are some archives I can…”  He slid into the backseat, saw Peter, and said, “I’ll call you back,” as he ended the call.  He slid the phone into his pocket.  “This is a surprise.”

“Consider this your first check in,” Peter said.  “And your first warning.  Next time confirm your driver’s identity, and check the car is from the company your reservation indicated.  I could easily have been Robert.”

Neal nodded.  Being settled into a home and a job at the FBI, he felt safe.  Safer than he’d felt in years.  He’d grown complacent.  “Good point.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter looked at Neal with concern.  The kid looked pale, and not particularly rested.  Not good when heading out on a potentially risky job.  He was staring out the window as they headed to the airport, but Peter would guess his mind wasn’t on the scenery.  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Peter said.

Neal looked startled.  He glanced at Peter and then resumed staring out the window.  “I’m fine.”

“You’re jumpy.  Not what we want right now.  Tell me, or I’m grounding you.”

“Excuse me?”

“No flying out of town until I’m convinced you’re steady enough to handle this assignment.”

“So you’re… you’re saying that as a boss, not as…”

Peter floundered a moment, and then recalled being grounded as a punishment from his parents.  “Oh.  Grounding.  Yeah, as in a boss clipping your wings.”

Neal nodded.  He leaned back, rubbed his face, and then started talking.  “When I was in the hospital and figured out I’d been given a massive overdose of Flashback, my biggest fear was that I’d be hooked on it.  It’s a fairly new drug, not a lot known about the effects of high doses yet.  After taking so much care not to mess around with any addictive substances, I thought maybe I’d had an addiction forced on me.  And maybe I’d be just as weak as my mother, never able to break free.”  He took a deep breath.  “Anyway, I had a nightmare about that last night.”

“You weren’t addicted, though,” Peter said.

“No.  Just a passing fear.”

“Have you talked to Noelle about it?”

Neal shook his head.  “By the time I got out of the hospital, I wasn’t worried about it anymore.  I haven’t thought about it again, not until last night.”

Why last night? Peter wondered.  What had triggered this fear?  The first thing that came to mind was that they were digging around into Neal’s past now.  “They say most teens experiment with drugs at some point.”

“I didn’t.” Neal said.  “I was too determined not to end up like my mom.”

That left one other option.  “What about Henry?”

“He didn’t do anything, not when I was with him.  That was part of our deal.  If he’d broken the deal, I’d have left.”

“And before he found you in Chicago?”  Silence greeted that question, confirming Peter’s suspicion that Henry did have a history with drugs and that Neal knew about it.  “Are you afraid he’ll do something like that again?”

“He knows better,” Neal said, but he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself.  “He knows he needs to be on top of his game now if he’s going to stay a step ahead of Robert.”

Peter knew plenty of examples of people who turned to cocaine and other drugs in the belief that those drugs would make them sharper.  No wonder Neal was worried.  And it was a worry he wouldn’t take to Noelle because it involved her son.  “Is there any way to get a message to him, to remind him of your deal?”

“No,” Neal responded immediately.  “He’s ditched his phone, won’t answer email.  He’s gone off the grid.  If I had a way to communicate with him, I’d already…”  He trailed off.  “Mozzie.”

“Your expert on off the grid.  You think he’s helping Henry?”

“No.  But I think Mozz can help me get a message to someone who’s gone off the grid.  And he’s obsessive enough to make it a message Henry can’t ignore.”

Peter had mixed feelings about this.  Neal looked much more positive now, which was good.  But Mozzie’s distrust of the FBI and his own criminal endeavors were influences Peter would prefer Neal avoid.  “Let’s think this over.  What’s Mozzie going to ask in return for this help?  I’m not having you aiding and abetting a known felon.”

Neal grinned.  “He takes great pride in being an unknown felon.  Anyway, he’s currently wrapped up in his latest conspiracy theory.  That’s something I can safely help with.”

“Nothing illegal,” Peter cautioned.

“I might need to look up the legal definition of stalking,” Neal said, “if he decides to get closer to his latest source of corrupt, capitalist power-mongering.  Otherwise I think we’re safe.”

Peter wasn’t convinced that anything involving Mozzie was safe, but they were approaching the airport and there were other things he needed to say.  “Remember to check in with Tricia frequently.  Play it safe.  Call us if there’s any sign of Robert.  We might not be there with you, but you’re still part of a team.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Neal muttered as he climbed out of the back seat.

“Nothing stupid!” Peter insisted as Neal picked up his luggage.

The kid turned toward him with the mischievous expression Peter associated with comments like “ _you’re such a dad”_ but this time Neal simply frowned and walked away.

On the ride back to the Federal Building, Peter fretted about this latest odd behavior.  Was this simply his enigmatic consultant needing space, or was there something more serious going on?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The early start and worries about Henry had taken a toll on Neal, and trying not to treat Peter like a dad had added to the stress.  Almost as soon as the flight took off he was lost in memories, picking up where he had left off the night before: taking advantage of an unused hotel room the night he learned Henry was Shawn Legend.

There was only one bed in the singer’s hotel room, so they’d flipped a coin.  Neal got the bed and Henry took the floor.  Neal suspected Henry rigged the coin toss, because it seemed like Neal almost always got the bed in these scenarios.  He added it to the list of mysteries surrounding his cousin: how did he control the outcome of the coin toss, and why?

Neal had been out of the hospital almost six weeks now.  He tried to hide how easily he got tired, but sometimes it wasn’t possible.  Tonight he fell asleep as they were watching a movie.  One minute both cousins were sitting on the bed, surrounded by ice cream and other snacks delivered by room service, and the next thing he knew he was lying down, the blankets pulled over him, and the bed cleared of the plates and napkins that had littered the space earlier.  The lights and TV were off and there was a hint of daylight where the curtains met.  Henry was sprawled on the floor with a pillow and extra blanket.

A glance at the clock told him it was early, barely sunrise.  He should be quiet.  He should let Henry sleep.  And he tried to hold it back, he really did.  But that seemed to make it worse.  The more he tried to muffle the coughs, the more they demanded to be heard.  Finally it broke through and he was coughing so hard he didn’t know if he could stop.  And then Henry was there, helping him move into a position that made it easier to breathe, offering water and a cough drop.  When Neal started to relax, Henry examined the coffee maker and packets on the bureau, and returned minutes later with a hot cup of tea.

“Breathe it,” he suggested.  “The steam’s better than the taste.”

The steam did help, and sipping the hot liquid was more soothing than he’d expected, even if he wasn’t a big fan of chamomile.

Henry sat on the bed, closely observing Neal’s recovery.  “It was probably the smoke,” he said as Neal continued drinking the tea and breathing carefully.  “At the concert, there was a lot of smoke when they set off the fireworks.  And then people were smoking at the party.”

Neal nodded. 

“You could have told me, you know.”

Neal simply stared at him.  He hadn’t wanted to admit a weakness, afraid that Henry would leave him behind, leave him alone, if he couldn’t keep up. 

Even though Neal didn’t express those fears out loud, Henry seemed to get it.  “You’re family, Neal.  We work this stuff out together.”  Then Henry told a story about his own brush with pneumonia, and about learning he wasn’t as recovered as he’d thought.  The story fascinated Neal, distracting him so that he relaxed and breathed normally again.  “I finally agreed to physical therapy,” Henry said.  “That’s what you need now.  Let’s get a move on.  Pack your stuff, and we’ll go to Austin and convince Miranda to take on another patient.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As the plane landed in Austin, Neal realized that as a teenager he had wanted to believe his cousin was the heroic, all-conquering figure he claimed to be.  But now he needed the truth.  When Shannon Hunter and her fiancé met Neal at the airport, he asked for her version of the story.

They were waiting for his flight’s luggage to arrive, and Shannon sat down and fanned herself.  “It always gets so hot in here.”

“You OK?” Neal asked.  He remembered Shannon as athletic, not someone to be affected by the walk from the parking lot to baggage claim. 

Shannon and Jake shared a look of amusement.  “The wedding’s been postponed three times now.  My grandmother has these ridiculous superstitions and keeps insisting we reschedule.  I finally had enough.  Jake and I moved in together, which got her riled.  But worse than that, we got a jumpstart on starting a family.  By Labor Day I’ll definitely be showing.”

“Congratulations,” said Neal. 

“So I guess as a mother-to-be I should practice my storytelling skills.  Let’s see.  Once upon a time, there was a princess named Shannon who went to a water park with her friends on a hot summer day.  They’d dared her to try the bungee jump, and she’d agreed even though she wasn’t looking forward to it.  She heard a – what shall we call him?  She heard a jester in the distance, arguing with the king of the park.  Suddenly the jester stepped in front of her in line when it was her turn to jump.  She had to pretend to be annoyed, because she didn’t want anyone to realize she was relieved.  So she called him a jerk.”

“Was he a jerk?” Neal asked.

“That’s code for he didn’t flirt with her,” Jake added.

Shannon nodded.  “I wasn’t wearing those Daisy Dukes for my health.  He could have at least ogled.  But he barely paid any attention to me.  He said it was his birthday, as if that was an excuse for jumping ahead of a princess in line.  He put on the safety harness that attached him to the cord and was about to take his jump, but then he turned around and handed me his wallet.  Guests at the park would put our stuff in lockers when we arrived, but I guess employees kept their wallets on them if their jobs didn’t include going on the rides.  Anyway, he asked me to hold on to it for him.  I was holding it, staring at him, feeling like an idiot for not protesting, but he had this way about him, like he was used to being in charge.  I finally caught my breath enough to ask him his name.  And he told me to call him Shawn.  Then he jumped.”

Jake called their attention to the bags that were finally arriving.  Neal jumped up to claim his.  Then they waited at the curb while Jake drove his car around.  “What happened after Henry jumped?” Neal asked.

“When the cord was fully extended you could see it was fraying.  He should have barely skimmed the water, and instead he was dunked in the river.  Then he took the first bounce, back up a ways and down again, but this time the cord snapped.  My first thought was that he’d be fine.  It wasn’t that far a fall, and the water was deep enough that he wouldn’t break his neck or anything.  But we were right beside an area popular with whitewater rafters.  He was swept away between boulders and rafts.  Someone pulled him onto a raft and made their way to the shore.  I’m just staring the whole time, you know?  A bunch of us walked along the bridge to get a better view.  When Henry was pulled off the raft, he must have been unconscious.  I was half-convinced he was dead.  There were paramedics a few yards upriver, treating what looked like a sprained ankle.  They sprinted over and loaded Henry onto a stretcher and then drove him away.  They hadn’t done any CPR and that scared me even more.  But they left with their siren blasting, so I assumed that meant he was still alive.”

“Why no CPR?” Neal asked.

“From what Dad told me, he had cracked some ribs, and they didn’t want to puncture his lungs.”  She paused as Jake pulled up and Neal stowed his luggage in the trunk.  When Neal was in the car she continued, “I told my friends I wanted to go home, and they didn’t argue.  We were all shaken.  It wasn’t until I was nearly at my parents’ house that I noticed I was still holding this stranger’s wallet.  I found his driver’s license, learned his name wasn’t Shawn, but that it really was his birthday.  Looking at the date, it hit me.  It was the anniversary of my brother’s death, my brother named Shawn.  I was nearly hysterical by the time I got home.  There I was, crying about this stranger, and my brother, and bungee jumping.  Dad finally pieced enough together to take the wallet and call local hospitals looking for a John Doe.  When he got the answer he was looking for, he told me everything was all right.  He left for the hospital.  The next several evenings he spent at the hospital.  He probably was there first thing in the morning and over his lunch hours, too.  And then suddenly this Henry was living at my aunt Miranda’s place.  He was a lot quieter than I’d remembered.  Very serious and determined.  And embarrassed at my grandmother’s insistence that he was my brother, finally returned to us.  Dad said we weren’t supposed to mention Henry outside the family, and to be wary of anyone who asked about him.  There were a couple of rounds of reporters, but after that it was quiet.  Henry stuck around four months, I’d guess, and then suddenly he was gone.  And a few months later he was back with you, the little brother who seemed as quiet and mysterious as Henry did.”

Neal grinned.  “I don’t think Miranda would have called either of us quiet or mysterious.”

Shannon met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and she wasn’t smiling.  “She was upset when the two of you left with no warning.  Don’t do that again.”

Before Neal could protest, his phone beeped.  It was noon in New York.  Time to check in with Tricia.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tricia and Jones had taken over one of the smaller conference rooms, posting a timeline for Robert Winslow’s disappearance, and thoughts for tracking him down.  One wall was dedicated to information about Henry.  Peter thought Neal would find that reassuring when he got back to the office.  They’d ordered in lunch, making the most of their time before Tricia left on vacation.  Peter had arrived ten minutes ago, impatiently waiting for Neal’s check in.  It took extreme self-restraint not to pounce on Tricia’s phone when it rang.  She wisely placed it on speaker.  “Peter and Jones are with me,” she warned.  “How are things in Austin?”

“Hot.  Must be almost 90 degrees, and it seems even hotter when Shannon starts flirting.”

Peter could hear laughter and shouts of denial in the background.

“Everything’s great.  Shannon’s expecting, and they’re going to name the baby after me.  They just don’t know it yet.”

And in the background they heard, “God, no!  I’m having a sweet little girl” followed by “But I wanted to have a boy and name him Calvin” followed by “We are not naming our child after the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons.  That kid was a menace.”

“We just left the airport,” Neal continued.  “Fortunately it’s not far to Lawson’s office.  I don’t know how much of this pre-wedded bliss I can take.”

“It’s not too late to take you wedding cake shopping,” someone warned.  “So much icing you think your tongue’s going to go into sugar shock and fall off.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Peter warned.  “I’ve been there.  Buttercream icing overload is not for the faint of heart.”

“I’ll be careful,” Neal promised.

They wrapped up the call, reminding Neal to call back in six hours.  Peter shook his head.  “I wish I could believe he’ll be careful.  But _Neal_ and _caution_ seem to be antonyms.”  He looked at Jones and Tricia.  “I suppose I sound crazy after that call, right?  It doesn’t sound like he could be much safer.”

Jones shook his head.  “I’ve never figured out if he’s good at taking care of himself, or just lucky.  Did I tell you about the time I asked George to follow Neal?”

Peter had heard the story, but Tricia hadn’t.  “Your Navy buddy?  No, what happened?”

“It was right after Neal had a meeting with Kate.  I could see she’d gotten to him, even though he said he was fine.  I was concerned about Neal being Neal, you know, reckless and impulsive.  It was tempting to follow him myself, but Tuesday Tails had taught me that he’d spot me in an instant.  So I sent someone he wouldn’t recognize.”

“How long did it take him to spot the tail?” Tricia asked.

“Not long,” Jones admitted.  “But he didn’t lose him, because he was curious about who George was and what he wanted.”

“Where did Neal go that night?”

“Lower East Side bar,” Jones said.  “A place with loud music, where he could let off some steam.  They had some kind of amateur night.  George said Neal was a decent singer.”

“Yeah, he is,” Peter said, remembering the Christmas concert in St. Louis.  “I wish we could send George after him on this trip.  I’d feel a lot better if someone I knew was keeping an eye on Neal.”

“Well, actually,” Jones said, “there is another way to keep an eye on him.”

Peter nodded at the reminder.  When Neal had first started working at the FBI, Peter had worried about how he would adjust, and had assigned Jones to befriend and track Neal.  Hughes had introduced them to the cell phone records the NSA was starting to collect.  They used Neal’s records as a test to see if the data would be useful for tracking criminals.  They’d stopped several months ago, but the dangers posed by Robert might justify starting again. 

“Let’s hold that in our back pocket for now,” Peter said.  “I think he already feels like his privacy is being invaded.  I don’t want to push it too far.”

“He wouldn’t know,” Jones said.

“I would.  I want to face him with a clean conscience.”  Changing the subject he asked, “What can you tell me about Shawn Hunter, and about Neal’s arrest in Las Vegas?”

“Not much on Hunter,” Jones said.  “That ID was used primarily in the late 90s, usually in pharmacies or medical clinics.  It looks like they used the ID and hit Lawson Hunter’s insurance as dependents whenever Neal or Henry got sick or injured.  Nothing major.”

“But Las Vegas is another matter,” Tricia said.  “You’ll never guess who flew into town to bail Neal out.”

“Lawson Hunter?” Peter asked.  It made sense to ask an attorney for help when you were in trouble with the law.

“No.  Robert Winslow.”

Peter took a deep breath.  Was Neal’s trip to Vegas intended to goad Robert in some way?  “Jones, go ahead and start the paperwork for accessing the NSA data again. Tricia, give me the details about this arrest and how Robert fits into the picture.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YouTube didn’t launch until 2005, but of course Mozzie would be aware of it in advance. Mozz also provides a teaser for The Woman in Blue; if you’ve read Silbrith’s description of the story, you know a haunted house is an element you can expect to see. My next chapter delves into more memories, showing us Neal as a 15-year-old and even briefly as a 3-year-old.


	8. Backstory

**Austin, TX. Friday afternoon. June 25, 2004.**

At lunch with Shannon Hunter, her fiancé Jake, and her father Lawson, Neal enjoyed the bustling Tex-Mex restaurant and the light-hearted stories. It had been a pleasant surprise to learn that Shannon remembered this was Neal’s favorite restaurant in Austin, and the food was as great as he had remembered. But always in the back of his mind was the reason for his visit, which he broached after the waitress took their orders for sopapillas and fried ice cream.

He took an indirect route, addressing Jake. “I hope you haven’t been bored by all our stories about Henry. Have you ever met him?”

“Not yet, but Shannon’s hoping he’ll come to the wedding. People talk like he’s one of the family, and the stories are fascinating, but –”

“Please, Jake,” Shannon interrupted.

“I’m just sayin’ it’s weird that someone who’s supposed to be like family doesn’t respond to the wedding invitation. Would it kill him to pick up the phone and call you?”

“You haven’t heard from him recently?” Neal asked.

“Not a peep,” said Shannon.

“Is he in some kind of trouble?” Lawson asked. He always was the most perceptive one in the Hunter family.

“Yeah,” said Neal, “he is. I was kind of hoping you could give me a lead on where he’s gone. Honestly, I’ve got mixed feelings. It would be a huge relief if you could tell me you’ve heard from him in the last month. But on the other hand, if he’s in danger the last thing I want is for the expectant mom here to get involved.” He watched Jake’s reaction, and saw what he expected. Jake was determined to keep Shannon out of harm’s way, and that made him amenable to Neal’s suggestion. “Will you let me know if you hear from him?”

“Absolutely,” said Jake.

“Do you really think he’s in danger?” Shannon asked.

Neal nodded. “Someone blew up his car a few months ago.”

Shannon gasped. “Do you know who did it?”

“His dad.” Neal paused as Shannon took that in. “We always talked about Robert as merely being a jerk. Annoying, but wanting the best for Henry. Well, we were wrong. Henry was just a means to an end for Robert, and when Henry got in his way instead, we saw his true colors. He’s tried to kill both of us this year, went into hiding when we figured out he was the one behind the attempts, and now Henry’s disappeared, too. He’s got a plan to lure Robert after him.”

“You’re sure of that?” Lawson asked.

“Positive. He’s completely dropped out of contact with family to keep us safe. No calls, no texts, no emails. We get occasional postcards to let us know he’s still alive, but he’s staying away to protect us. The thing is, he can’t carry this off alone. He needs someone to track the results of his plan and keep him informed. Preferably someone Robert isn’t aware of, and therefore wouldn’t be watching.”

“That’s why Henry didn’t turn to you for help,” Shannon said.

“Right, but I need to get in contact with him. He’s not thinking straight about this. He’s still thinking of me as a little brother, but I’m in the best position to handle things. I’ve got a plan that will work better than what he has in mind. Besides that, I have resources now, and I’m well protected.” Neal pulled out his FBI consultant’s badge. “I can help him, if I can find him.”

“Impressive,” said Shannon. “I wish I could do something.”

“Shannon,” said her fiancé in concerned tones.

“I get it,” she assured him. “I don’t want to get in the middle of this but I promise you, Neal, I’ll tell you right away if I hear from Henry.”

Neal wasn’t surprised at the end of the meal when Lawson insisted that Neal come to his office. The attorney was the type to hold information close, especially if that information might distress his family. If Henry had been in touch, he wouldn’t admit it in front of Shannon.

Lawson kept the conversation on trivial matters like the weather while he navigated downtown Austin traffic, allowing Neal’s mind to wander. He had visited the Hunters occasionally, always with Henry, and considered them casual friends. Henry, on the other hand, had an intense trust in Lawson. Until recently, Neal had been mystified by the relationship, but he thought he understood now. Lawson was Henry’s Peter. He was the father figure who outshone his real father, for whom he tried to be his best self. If Shawn Legend was Henry’s bad boy persona, then Shawn Hunter was Henry in Boy Scout mode.

What Neal wasn’t sure of, was whether Lawson was worthy of Henry’s trust. And if Lawson really had been like Peter at the start, he wondered if that father figure relationship could last all of these years?

Was it a fair comparison? Peter had seen the good in Neal and tried to bring it to the surface, but hadn’t tried to rename or remake him. Did Lawson care about the real Henry, or did he simply want to fit Henry into an image of what his son might have been?

When they arrived at his office, the attorney closed the door, gestured for Neal to sit down, and then said, “We need to talk.”

Neal nodded. Finally he was going to get some answers.

“I know you aren’t really Henry’s half-brother,” Lawson said. “I did some research, learned Henry was an only child, but his mother’s sister had a son named Neal. From what I could tell, that kid went into WITSEC.”

Neal crossed his arms and stared at Lawson. He wasn’t going to say anything about that.

Lawson didn’t push him. “You know, I met Robert Winslow. He came here to see me.”

“When?” Neal asked. “Did he give any indication where he was staying?”

“Slow down, now. This was back in 2001. He found out about Henry’s hospital stay, and how I told the staff he was my son.”

“So Robert knows that Henry uses Shawn Hunter as an alias?”

“That’s right. I called Henry and told him about it the next day.” Lawson had been sitting in his desk chair, but now he came around and leaned against his desk.

“So I was wrong about you being off Robert’s radar. He’d be checking to see if Henry contacted you.”

“Right again. And a couple months ago, I got a message from Henry warning me that Robert was going on a rampage. I upgraded the security system at my house, and installed security at Jake’s as an early wedding present.”

“Good idea. What about Miranda?”

“She already had a state-of-the-art system. But as far as I could tell, Robert wasn’t aware of her role in Henry’s life. I told him I didn’t know where Henry went in the months after he got out of the hospital, and I think he believed me.”

Neal thought over these revelations, including what he knew about the people involved. “Robert threatened you, back in 2001.”

“Thought he could get me disbarred for my role in falsifying records when Henry was in the hospital.”

“Why didn’t he go through with it?” Neal asked.

“I flat-out told him everything that would happen if he tried. My father was a former Texas Attorney General. One of my grandfathers was Lieutenant Governor, and the other was an infamous oil baron. Someone trying to get me disbarred would make the news, with lots of interviews where I’d explain why I’d lied and told the hospital that their John Doe was my son. I’d tell the reporters how this kid, not even drinking age, cringed when I asked if he wanted me to call his dad to let him know he was in the hospital.” Lawson continued his story, making it clear that he knew some of the reasons why Henry dropped out of sight and hid from Robert for several years.

_Yeah, Robert would have backed off rather than risk that information coming to light._ Neal was impressed and relieved. Clearly Lawson was not influenced or controlled by Robert. And it was reassuring to hear that Lawson was aware of Henry’s imperfections and still wanted to help him. It gave him hope that he could salvage a relationship with Peter in a form that wouldn’t jeopardize the agent’s position in the FBI. “Will you tell me if you hear from Henry or get a lead on his location?”

“You’re not planning to arrest him?” Lawson asked.

Neal shook his head. “I’d quit the FBI first. I swear, all I want is to help him. I’m concerned he isn’t thinking straight, and he’s going to run head first into trouble.” He handed Lawson a business card with his FBI contact information. “Please let me know if you get any information about Henry or Robert.”

After Lawson promised to pass on anything he learned, Neal walked a few blocks down the street to a branch of a national bank and opened an account in the name of Neal Legend.

As Neal put away his temporary checks, new ATM card, and Neal Legend driver’s license, he thought back to his first lessons in forging IDs.

**St. Louis, ten years ago**

As a 15-year-old high school sophomore, Neal had been taking art lessons from Professor Clarence Strasser for six years. But now, instead of attending weekend classes for children, Neal was actually enrolled in one of the professor’s classes at the University of Missouri in St. Louis. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he left high school early to join an undergraduate class that started at 3pm.

Although a love of art was his main reason for attending, he did have an ulterior motive. He listened as the underage college freshmen talked about acquiring fake IDs, and he convinced them to show him those IDs. Then he asked the owners of the most impressive fakes where they’d gotten them. Finally he tracked down the best forger in town to get an ID that said he was 18. It wasn’t for drinking – there was too much alcohol sitting around the house for the taking. As his mother’s alcoholism made her less and less dependable, he wanted to be able to deal with institutions like the bank and the utilities on her behalf. But they wouldn’t talk to a 15-year-old. With his new ID, he finally felt a measure of control in his life. It was so much easier to deal with this stuff himself rather than depend on nagging his mother to get it done.

He’d watched the process of making the ID, and asked intelligent questions. The forger appreciated Neal’s interest and grasp of the art, and offered a discount if Neal wanted to work for him.

The thought of earning his own money was tantalizing. He’d be able to make sure the bills were paid when his mom was short on funds, and could even start to save up for a car. He accepted the offer and became an apprentice forger. In the back of his mind, he realized this was not an ideal situation for someone who wanted to become a cop. But at least he was learning how to spot a fake ID, and he told himself that once he was inside the system he’d find a way to help people who were forced into illegal choices in order to get by.

The only downside was that his aunt Ellen was going to ask how he managed to buy a car once he saved up enough money. But the fake ID brought a solution to that dilemma.

It started with an embarrassing encounter in the spring semester, shortly before his 16th birthday. He’d arrived at the art class early and was drawing Theresa. He had a crush on her, but prided himself on keeping it hidden. That day, while he was absorbed in a drawing of Theresa as she’d passed through a ray of light, the object of his affection peered over his shoulder and said, “That’s good. How do you get that sense of motion?”

“I… umm…” He turned to a fresh page, eager to hide his romantic rendering of her, and started drawing a more generic human form walking. Once he had recovered the ability to speak he said, “Drawing it is the easy part. But how do you do it? I mean, you move like you’re dancing.”

He expected her to say she took ballet or something like that, and her answer surprised him. “Waitressing. If you can balance a tray of drinks across a crowded room where people are constantly in motion, it does wonders for your coordination.” She named an upscale restaurant downtown, not far from where his mother worked. He’d heard that watching the wait staff navigate the room was considered part of the entertainment there. The room was purposefully filled with obstacles so that only the most graceful people could survive as servers. The staff had been described as having the agility of professional dancers. Or of cat burglars, given their all-black attire.

“Do you think they’d hire me?” he blurted out. It seemed like the perfect solution – a legitimate source of income to explain the money he was making from his other job, and a chance to be around Theresa. And he wouldn’t mind learning how to move like that. He wasn’t really into sports, other than track, but a job like this would keep him in shape, mentally and physically. That would be important when he was old enough to apply to the Police Academy.

“Maybe. You move well.”

He tried not to blush at the comment that meant she’d actually paid attention to him. “Fencing lessons,” he said.

“Interesting. You have to be 18, though.”

And he had an ID proclaiming that was his age. She knew he was in high school, but not what grade he was in. “My birthday’s right around the corner,” he said, implying he was about to turn the magic age.

“I’m there Wednesday and Friday nights,” she said. “If you show up during my shift sometime, I’ll introduce you to the manager.”

He’d taken her up on it, and talked the boss into hiring him. He’d never gotten up the nerve to ask Theresa out or to admit to his crush, but working at the restaurant had been a great experience. He did learn to move like a cat burglar, he earned more than he’d expected in tips, and he’d received an education about wine. Although it wasn’t until he went to Europe that he’d gained his current level of expertise on that topic.

**Austin, present day**

After he left the bank, Neal caught a taxi to take him to Miranda’s studio. This was a change from the late 90s, when she’d used her garage to record demos of the songs she wrote. She’d had a lot of success these last few years. Now she had a studio downtown, and recorded demos for other songwriters, too. And some of the singers who picked up her songs liked the sound of her demos so much that they came to her studio to replicate what they’d heard.

Miranda Hunter Garza, Lawson’s sister, was a savvy businesswoman on top of her musical talents. She was smart, stubborn and compassionate – exactly what Henry and Neal had needed in their younger days to keep them on their toes. Her daughter, Yvette, was about a year younger than Neal, and had suffered from bronchitis and other respiratory ailments as a child. When Miranda had wanted to use her talents to give back to the community, that effort revolved around music therapy. She specialized in helping patients who needed to strengthen their lungs.

Neal recalled the story as Henry originally told it. Henry had been pushing to be released from the hospital, even though Lawson had concerns that he was moving too fast for someone with cracked ribs and who had been fighting off pneumonia after drowning. Lawson introduced Miranda as a therapist who would evaluate Henry’s recovery. She took him on a trip away from the hospital to the University of Texas campus. She gave him a backpack of text books, and said if he could walk the route for his Monday class schedule, she’d tell the hospital that he was well enough to be released.

Henry had been shocked and distressed at how weak he was, realizing he couldn’t keep up his usual level of activity. As they rested on the campus grounds before returning to the hospital, Miranda recommended that he go to school part time while his ribs healed, and also that he have physical therapy to regain normal lung capacity. She’d just about talked him into it, when a former roommate saw them and jogged over to say hello. He mentioned that someone had dropped by their old apartment looking for Henry, and described the guy. Henry tried to keep it together, but on the drive back to the hospital he started to panic. He was making plans to leave the hospital and get out of Austin, and Miranda realized something was wrong. She gathered he was about to bolt, even if she couldn’t figure out why, and she made him a deal. He could work part time at her studio for the next semester in return for room, board and therapy. There would be no money involved, no rent, no utilities in his name as he would live in the apartment over the garage she’d converted into a recording studio. He’d withdraw from college for a semester and drop out of sight, hidden from whatever had him in such a panic.

He’d taken her up on the offer, and in the spring when he felt responsible for a cousin who was also slowly recovering from pneumonia, he’d brought Neal to Austin hoping to get him the same deal.

Now, entering Miranda’s new studio, Neal looked around until he found her office. Before he could say anything, she noticed him and jumped up to hug him tightly. “I thought you were dead!” she accused, as she released him. “You let me believe those rumors for nearly two years before you called me last December.”

He apologized again for assuming she’d known Shawn Legend had been lying about Neal Legend’s death. And for the first time he admitted the fears he couldn’t share with Noelle. “I’m not the one you have to worry about. Henry’s disappeared. His father is out for blood and I’m pretty sure Henry’s plan is to keep us all safe by sacrificing himself.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Have you heard anything from him, Miranda? Anything at all? I’m going crazy worrying about him.”

It had been months since Miranda had heard from his cousin. They sat down in her office and brainstormed places Henry might go, ways he might stay hidden. Miranda was the only person outside of Urban Legend – other than Mozzie, now – who knew who the members were. Neal explained his theory that Henry would hide in his Shawn Legend identity, bringing down Masterson and at the same time leaving clues to tantalize and infuriate Robert. And Miranda was willing to help get ahead of Henry, starting with providing copies of recordings she’d made of Henry, Neal and Angela singing in her studio.

As they searched her archives for the songs Neal wanted, they talked about their first meeting seven years ago. “You were so skittish when Henry brought you to me,” she remembered. “That first day, when I tried to evaluate the health of your lungs, I had you hold a note as long as you could. I put my hand on your chest, intending to tell you to work your diaphragm, and you nearly jumped through the roof.”

Neal nodded absently as he sought out a specific song he remembered. “Because the torso was Vance’s favorite place to hit me when I was a kid. I wasn’t a fan of any strangers touching me, especially there.”

Miranda drew a sharp breath. “What’s changed, Neal? It used to be when I so much as hinted that you were abused, you changed the subject in the blink of an eye.”

And Neal blinked involuntarily in surprise. He’d always been uncomfortable when Miranda suggested that his reactions to being touched were indicative of being abused and he would change the subject whenever she suggested he should talk to someone about it. But now the topic didn’t stress him as much. “I’ve been talking to a therapist.”

“It’s made a world of difference,” Miranda said.

And to think Neal had been trying to find an excuse to end the sessions with Noelle. He’d dealt with the repressed memories, the flashbacks and nightmares. That was all he’d expected to get out of the sessions, and didn’t see the point in continuing now that he’d achieved those goals. He hadn’t realized that he’d gained any other benefit, but Miranda was right. Even two months ago he wouldn’t have been able to talk so calmly about his experiences. “She’s good,” he acknowledged. He’d have to remember to thank her. He glanced at Miranda to see if she’d made any progress hunting through the old tapes, and noticed the guitar hanging on the wall. “Is that…”

She turned in the direction of his gaze. “Yes, that’s Henry’s favorite guitar. He loved that damned thing, and I swear it loved him, too. He made it sing like nobody else.”

“I remember he showed off with it, must have been less than 24 hours after we got here.” Neal could picture it as if it were yesterday. Henry was playing that guitar like a rock-and-roll god. Neal had simply stared in wide-eyed awe, and when Henry glanced over at him it felt like he’d traveled back in time. He wasn’t 18, but three years old, watching in amazement as a slightly older boy pulled pots out of a kitchen cabinet, turned them upside down, and started playing them like drums. The boy had looked up at Neal and grinned, his expression a combination of pride and mischief that was quintessential Henry.

It was the first time since meeting up with Henry in Chicago that Neal recalled his cousin as a child. And it seemed like Henry’s memory was triggered, too, because as he took in Neal’s expression, he suddenly faltered on the guitar, and his face was filled with surprise followed by recognition.

“Wow,” Neal had said, as much about the memory as about the guitar performance.

“Yeah,” Henry had said. Then the moment of wonder had passed and he looked very pleased with himself. “C’mon, kiddo.” He led the way, and Neal followed after him eager for the next adventure.

Neal shook his head, coming back to 2004.

“Yes, he showed off then and pretty much every day thereafter,” Miranda recalled. “I put him through the same drill as you when I first brought him here. Singing lessons to exercise his lungs, office work to pay for room and board. Eventually I showed him how to run the sound equipment, and he had free rein with the instruments at night. When I learned he could play the piano I made him practice and sometimes used him for small parts in the demos, but he was made for the guitars. That’s where he excelled.”

Neal went back to searching for the song he wanted, and said in an offhand manner, “He told me once that you made him sing country.”

“Mm-hmm. Most of my early success was in country music. Henry has a nice voice for country, but his heart wasn’t in it.”

Neal didn’t snort, but it took an effort. “He’s rock-and-roll to the core.”

“Would you like to hear one of the demos I recorded with Henry taking lead vocals for a country song? He complained bitterly, but I’m the boss. He had to sing what I assigned.” Miranda found the song and they laughed to hear Henry’s voice in a genre he normally avoided. Then they found the other songs Neal wanted to give Mozzie to upload to the Urban Legend site.

As they were wrapping up, Neal said, “I’ve always wondered… When Henry first brought me here, he seemed at loose ends. Then about a week after I met you, you pulled him aside for an intense conversation. I heard him shouting a few times, but I couldn’t make out the words. And then after that he seemed settled in. What did you say to him?”

Miranda studied Neal a moment, as if judging his ability to handle the story. Then she nodded and said, “I told him that you were scared. The minute you would notice he wasn’t around, you’d look for him or ask me where he was. It was clear you expected him to abandon you, and you weren’t comfortable with us the way in the same way he was. When he moved into that garage apartment the first time, it was like he was an extension of the family. From what I could tell he came from a big family and was used to hanging out with various aunts and uncles, used to being welcomed with open arms. I was like another aunt. On the other hand, you seemed baffled by us, and he was your one familiar, trusted element. When I talked to him that day I said he needed to do something to show you that he was committed to staying here as long as it took for you to recover, and I insisted that enrolling in UT for the summer semester was the best way to do that. He had concerns about being found by someone, but Lawson went with him to the registrar’s office and spun some story about Henry’s parents being famous people and the need to repel requests for information from reporters posing as family. They locked down his records in fear of a lawsuit if they inadvertently shared his schedule or even his enrollment status.”

“Did he resent –” Neal started, but Miranda cut him off.

“Don’t ever think that way. That big family of his, with all those Winslow cousins… I could tell he was fond of them, but it almost seemed as if they were interchangeable when he talked about them. He’d be happy to see them, but he’d be fine if he went months or years before the next time he saw them. Lawson told me a while back that Henry had lied about the two of you being half-brothers, and I believe that from a pure family tree sense of the world. But it was always clear to me that emotionally you were brothers, and that Henry wouldn’t dream of abandoning you. Not because he felt obligated, but because he loved you.”

And as a result of her words, Neal had a lump in his throat when his phone beeped to remind him of the time. It was 6pm in New York, time to check in with Tricia. “Can I borrow your office?” he asked. “I need to make a call.”

“Be my guest,” Miranda said. “Let me know when you’re done, and we’ll head out for dinner. Yvette’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

Neal wasn’t surprised to find that Peter was lingering in the background when Tricia answered her phone. Reporting that Henry hadn’t been in contact with the Hunters, and that Robert was aware of the Shawn Hunter alias, Neal tried to get off the phone quickly. He didn’t want to mention the Garzas, keeping Miranda a secret in order to preserve the Urban Legend identities.

Peter had other plans. “When I first recruited you, you told me to ask you sometime about the first time you were arrested, in Las Vegas.”

Inwardly Neal cursed his carelessness in mentioning that to Peter, as well as Peter’s memory. They’d had that conversation in December. “You know most of it. Henry broke the display case around a guitar that had belonged to Jimi Hendrix. There was a warrant issued for his arrest, and he skipped town with my ID. I thought it was just a game, until I was arrested when I used the ID he’d left behind. The Las Vegas Metro police didn’t buy the fact that I was a victim of identity theft, not at first. They tossed me in a holding cell overnight. The next day they let me go.”

“After Robert Winslow bailed you out,” Peter pressed. “Why didn’t you tell us about that part?”

“Listen, you know I spent some time with Henry and Robert,” Neal said, “and that it ended with Robert tricking me into forging the Atlantic bonds, which he used to blackmail me. What does it matter how it all started?”

“If it doesn’t matter, then you shouldn’t have an objection to telling us the details,” Peter countered.

“Fine,” said Neal. “It was all a setup. After several years apart, Henry softened on his stance toward Robert. He convinced himself that Robert was gruff and annoying, but that under it all he really wanted the best for Henry. He thought he could kill two birds with one stone: getting a father for me, and starting over on a fresh foot in his own relationship with his dad. So he purposely got in trouble, knowing I’d be arrested when I started flashing his ID around. The arrest of Henry Winslow popped on the Winston-Winslow watch lists, and Robert immediately came out to bring his son to heel. But instead of his son, he got me. Didn’t take him long to figure out who I was, and that I could lead him to Henry. Soon enough he had us both on a corporate jet headed back to Baltimore, pretending that he was happy to meet me again. The rest is my usual dismal history with father figures.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal’s comment stung a little when Peter heard it. The kid should have emphasized that he was talking about his former dismal history with father figures, because it was different now, right?

But Neal remained silent on that score, and Peter was left wondering what the hell had gone wrong, and how things could have soured without his even being aware of having done anything to impact Neal’s opinion. It hadn’t even been a week since Father’s Day. He just didn’t get it.

“In retrospect, it’s safe to say Robert was angry with both of you for tricking him into going to Vegas to bail you out, right?” Peter asked.

“ _Angry_ would be an understatement. When he blackmailed me he made it very clear how unworthy I was to pretend to be his son. And he had a lot to say about my pernicious influence on Henry.”

Peter rolled his eyes. Henry was older than Neal and a ringleader by nature. “To recap, Robert has been irrational in his hatred of you for years, and you’re going back to where it all started, taunting Robert with the memories of how you impersonated his son.”

“What? No! It isn’t like that. This isn’t about Robert. Vegas has always been a favorite haunt of Henry’s. I’m going there for the same reasons I came to Austin. I’m looking for leads into how he stayed hidden before, and who’s helping him now. That’s all it is, Peter.”

“Then why won’t you be more specific about your plans? Just tell us who you’re going to talk to.”

“No.”

Peter couldn’t believe his ears. “The FBI isn’t paying for you to hang out at casinos, Neal. We need some idea of what you’re planning.”

“The FBI isn’t paying for any of this, remember? I’m traveling on my dime. I’ll be there on a Sunday, so it isn’t even a work day.” There was a pause, and based on Neal’s tone, Peter guessed the kid was running his hands through his hair. “We’re not talking about gangsters or even criminals. But Vegas attracts eccentrics, people who live on the edges and prefer to go by pseudonyms. They’ll scatter like mice if they get a hint of the Bureau, so I don’t want the local agents hanging around when I’m trying to gather information. Can’t you trust me, just this once?”

Peter was about to retort that he’d shown a lot of trust in Neal over the last six months, but Tricia intervened. “How about we compromise on this, Neal? We won’t insist on a detailed itinerary for your stay in Las Vegas, and in return you check in more frequently. Every two hours.”

“Are you kidding me? When will I have time to track down Henry’s old contacts if I’m always on the phone with you? Make it four hours.”

“Three,” said Tricia. “That’s my final offer. Check in every three hours, or I’ll fly out to Vegas and go to every meet with you.”

“Great,” said Neal, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Every three hours when I’m in Vegas. Now if you don’t mind, I need to get back to the Hunters.”

With that the call ended, and Peter looked at Tricia. He was pretty sure she saw how bewildered he felt. “What’s going on here? Last week I was congratulating myself on how Neal was becoming a team player, and now it seems like he resents having to work with us.”

Tricia shook her head. “Maybe it’s a manifestation of his fear about Henry? Let’s not jump to conclusions. Tomorrow he’ll be with his family, going to a birthday party. That should be a chance for him to relax and unwind. If he still seems out of sorts when he calls from Seattle, I’ll let you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a medical expert, but I have read articles that say singing can improve lung capacity.
> 
> On Monday we’ll hit the one-year anniversary of the amazing Silbrith volunteering to proofread my chapters. Very soon after that she graduated to beta reader, and eventually admitted she was writing missing scenes for this AU. After I convinced her to send me a scene, I began a campaign to wear down her resistance to publishing her own stories. I’ll pause now to accept the applause of everyone who has been enjoying The Woman in Blue… Seriously, though, I couldn’t have a better co-conspirator and want to thank her for the help, hand-holding and inspiration she has provided over the last year.
> 
> Tricia thinks Neal’s trip to Seattle for Angela’s birthday will be calm and relaxing. Little does she know…


	9. Substitutes

**Austin, TX. Friday evening. June 25, 2004.**

Although Neal had enjoyed catching up with songwriter Miranda Garza at her studio, dinner at her home was less fun. First, she had separated from her husband since Neal had last visited, and Ernesto’s boisterous presence was missed. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask the cause of the separation, but simply ignoring the change in the household was awkward, too. Even more awkward was talking to Miranda’s daughter after the meal. Neal dreaded the conversation, but he had to make sure his cousin hadn’t been in contact with this last member of the Hunter family.

Yvette offered to do the dishes, and Neal volunteered to help. He did the washing while she rinsed and put things away.

“Have you –” he started after the sink was filled with soapy water.

“How’s –” she said at the same time.

“Go ahead,” Neal insisted.

She cleared her throat. “I just… I want you to know that I’ve done a lot of growing up since the last time you were here. When we first met I wasn’t exactly subtle about the crush I had on Henry. And I made a pest of myself each time the two of you returned.”

Neal nodded. That’s what made this so tricky. It would be easy for Henry to manipulate Yvette into helping him. And if that had happened, it would be disappointing. Neal wanted to believe his cousin was better than that.

“And then the last time you were here, I threw myself at you.” Yvette kept her attention on the dishes she dried, careful not to look at Neal.

“Because people kept saying how much Henry and I were alike, you convinced yourself I was the next best option.”

She finally looked at Neal. “I’m so sorry. You deserved better than to be treated like a second choice. And then after that you avoided us.”

As much as Neal had wanted to skip this conversation, it was a relief to admit, “I’m as guilty as you were. Henry can be overpowering sometimes.” Especially when he was in his role of Shawn Legend. Yvette might not know the name, but she had certainly encountered the persona much of the time she interacted with his cousin. “He’s always going to be older than me, always assumes he’s smarter and should be in charge. Sometimes I’d get jealous. I’d want to be the one in charge.”

“You wanted to be Henry as much as I wanted you to be him?”

“On that last visit, yeah, I think we were both engaging in some fantasy.” He was stretching the truth there to smooth over her feelings. Neal had been very flattered when she’d made him the focus of her attention, picking him over the charismatic Shawn Legend. But when it was over she’d been embarrassed and they’d barely spoken to each other ever since.

Neal thought about Kate, who had been obsessed with Vincent Adler. Another case of being someone’s second choice. He’d avoided thoughts of Kate for a while now, partly because such thoughts were painful, and partly because he’d been busy with his Columbia entrance exams and his concerns for Henry. To his surprise, the memories weren’t as painful now. Maybe he was finally ready to let go. “Don’t blame yourself for my not returning. There was a lot of turmoil in my life that started a few months later, and I needed to get away, to make a fresh start.” That’s when he’d left for Europe, but he didn’t want to make the conversation about him. “What did you mean about growing up?”

“I changed my major.” Her grimace reminded Neal that she’d been studying psychology, to have more in common with Henry. “And now I’ve finished my first year of law school. This summer I’m doing an internship at Uncle Lawson’s firm.” She described her studies and ambitions, and she really did sound more mature, more her own person than when she’d been obsessed with Henry. “When I graduate I’d like to move to New York.” And suddenly she bit her lip and stopped talking.

“What?” Neal asked. “It’s a great city.”

“I know, but… I don’t want you to think I’m moving there to follow you.”

Neal dried his hands and leaned against the kitchen cabinet to study her. “You’re completely over Henry, and Henry substitutes?”

“Absolutely. I haven’t thought about Henry in months. Law school doesn’t leave time for silly crushes, believe me.”

“No internet searches on him?” Neal asked, not to embarrass her, but in case her online activity had caught the attention of Win-Win and Robert before he disappeared.

She blushed but said, “Not in a couple of years.”

“And if he called, what would you do?”

Yvette looked confused. “Why would he call me? I can’t imagine I ever cross his mind.”

“He’s had some trouble recently, and now he’s avoiding his family. He might reach out to friends we don’t normally associate with him, if he needs help staying out of sight.” Neal reached into his pocket for a business card and handed it to her. “If you’re serious about being grown up, then let’s get off on the right foot as adults. Henry doesn’t want to pull me into his troubles, but I’m in the best position to help him. Will you call me if you hear from him?”

“You work for the FBI?”

“That’s right. I grew up, too. I have the resources and information Henry needs, if he’ll just talk to me. Are you with me on this?”

Yvette nodded. “I promise I’ll call if I hear anything.” She reached out, paused, and then continued forward to put a hand on Neal’s arm. “If you think of any way a law student can help, let me know. I’d like to prove to both of you that I’m really capable of being an adult friend now and not, you know, a wannabe girlfriend.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

Once the dishes where done, Neal spent a little more time talking to Miranda. He got her take on Stan Masterson and how to prove the man was taking advantage of musical artists. Then he asked if she knew of gigs for either Neal Legend or for Urban Legend.

She promised to reach out to her friends in the industry and send some work his way. He was about to head up to the old garage apartment when she said, “Neal, I agree that Stan Masterson is scum, but he’s smart scum. Be careful.”

Neal shrugged. “Urban Legend never intended to go pro. We’ve got nothing to lose.”

“I think you should talk to Angela about that.”

The apartment over the old studio had a couple of daybeds that doubled as sofas, a dining table and chairs, and a small bathroom. A TV sat on a wide bureau with plenty of drawers for two people, but the closet was tiny. There was a dorm-sized refrigerator and microwave – no need for a real kitchen since they shared meals with Miranda’s family when they stayed here. The space was cramped and didn’t have the million-dollar views of his loft in New York, but there was still a comforting sense of home in the pine floors, the deeply colored walls and the wrought iron accents. On one of the walls he’d painted a trompe l’oeil window that looked out onto the Austin city skyline. He’d added that feature when he was 20, and on his next visit had painted a faux skylight on the ceiling that gave the room a view of the stars in the style of Van Gogh.  

He checked a bottom drawer of the distressed wood bureau and found his old paint supplies. This time he went to an empty wall to give it a view of New York City as it looked from his apartment in June’s mansion. He was cleaning his brushes when his phone beeped with the reminder that it was midnight in New York. Time to check in with Tricia.

“How did it go today?” Tricia asked him.

“No leads on Henry. Other than learning Robert knows about the Shawn Hunter alias, all I accomplished was ruling people out.”

“That’s still progress,” Tricia said. “And tomorrow you’ll determine if any of your family have heard from him. Are you sure he won’t show for the party?”

“He wouldn’t want to endanger us. If he showed up, there’s too much of a chance Robert would crash the party.” But that didn’t mean Henry wouldn’t be in Seattle, staying a safe distance away but close enough to catch a glimpse of the party. The trick would be finding him, in order to confront him about his plans.

“You sound calmer than you did the last time you called,” Tricia commented.

“I’ve been painting. That usually helps, if I can find an inspiration to pour my emotions into. Talking to the Hunters was good, but it stirred up some memories about Henry. It was really getting to me.”

“Now you see why there’s a policy about keeping family members out of investigations.”

“I guess. So, umm, thanks for letting me look into Henry’s case.”

“You’re welcome. But instead of thanking me, how about apologizing to Peter?”

“For what?”

“For snapping at him, for saying he doesn’t trust you, for generally coming across as a teenager with a grudge instead of a friend and colleague.”

“Damn it.” Neal stopped cleaning his painting supplies to pace the apartment. He wanted to argue, but thinking back over that conversation he had to agree she had a point. In his attempt to avoid sounding like family, he’d simply come across as a rebellious son instead of an obedient one. And he’d done it in front of Tricia, who had been on his side despite Hughes’ concerns of jealousy from the agents on the team. “I didn’t mean that. He wouldn’t have agreed to let me work this case if he didn’t trust me.”

“Right.” She paused before adding, “It isn’t like you to snap at Peter, and I can’t help worrying about whatever is driving you to react that way. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Neal barely stopped himself from denying anything was wrong. Tricia had the power to recall him back to New York if she thought he couldn’t handle this case, and an obvious lie would be cause for concern. “Some of the stories I’m uncovering about Henry, about his mindset when he first decided to disappear when he was 20, which ties into his mindset when he found me and decided I needed protection… It isn’t easy to hear. These people loved him, trusted him, kept him hidden and safe, and he still panicked and ran away from them. And I thought of the two of us, he was the stable one.”

“We all have our breaking points,” Tricia said. “You’ve never said why Henry disappeared all those years ago. We were so focused on the _how_ , I didn’t even ask. Do you know?”

“Parts of it,” Neal said, hoping to lead her away from information he’d promised long ago that he wouldn’t share. “Listen, how mad is Peter?”

“He isn’t mad at you, Neal. He’s hurt.”

“Will you tell him I’m sorry?”

“No, but you can. Peter’s much more of a morning person than I am, and Saturday morning I’ll be trying to wrangle my family into a minivan for a road trip to Maine. Your 6am check in will be with Peter. That gives you plenty of time to decide what you want to say to him.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Mmph.” Neal rolled over when his phone beeped at him. His 6am check in was 5am in Texas, and he’d set the alarm to give him 15 minutes to wake himself up before talking to Peter. He couldn’t believe he was resorting to instant coffee, but caffeine was imperative. He washed his face and brushed his teeth and stretched, all the while trying to convince himself that this time he would set the right tone with Peter.

He poured a cup of coffee and then called. “Remind me why I agreed to check in at this ungodly hour,” Neal said when Peter answered. “There has to be…” He paused for a sip of coffee. “Oh. God.” He dropped his phone on the table and ran to the miniscule kitchen sink to spit out the coffee. He dumped the contents of the mug, rinsed it, and filled it with water to wash away the taste.

When Neal picked up the phone again he heard Peter saying, “Neal? Neal! What’s going on?”

“That was even worse than Bureau brew. Does instant coffee have an expiration date?” Desperate for something else to drink, he opened the tiny fridge and pulled out a can of cola. “I thought I didn’t like coffee as a teenager, but I was clearly trying the dregs when Henry brought me here. Hold on.” He popped open the soft drink and chugged half of it. Then he sat down. “Have we considered that Robert is actually a decent guy driven to desperate acts by truly terrible coffee?”

“I’ll run that by the criminal profilers,” Peter said. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Finding decent coffee moved to the top of my list. Then I’m flying to Seattle, catching up with family and celebrating Angela’s birthday. She’s one of my candidates for who’s helping Henry stay hidden, so I’ll find time to chat with her.”

“Are you talking to Noelle?”

Neal drank more of the soft drink and put his feet up on a table that functioned as coffee table, work space or nightstand, depending on the need. “Yeah, but she’s as motivated as me to bring Henry back home. She’ll tell me if she’s learned anything about his plans or location.”

“No, I mean _talk_. You know, a session. Therapy.”

Right, it was Saturday. “That’s the plan.” There was a moment of awkward silence and then Neal said, “Tricia said I came off as, um, immature yesterday.”

“I would have said _stressed_. And it has me concerned. I’m trusting you to act as an employee of the FBI on this trip, and not to get fed up with us and run. We can’t help Henry if you go rogue and leave us out of the loop.”

“Do you want to help him, Peter? Or do you just want to catch Robert?”

There was a sound of a refrigerator opening. “I like Henry. I don’t condone what he’s doing now, and the worry he’s causing his family, but I still think he’s basically a good person. The faster we can catch Robert, the better the chance that Henry comes out of this unscathed, and without a criminal record or doing anything he’s going to regret for the rest of his life.” Now there was a sound of juice being poured into a glass. “One more way he’s a lot like you. I keep telling myself I’ve pulled you off the path that would send you to prison, but at times like this I worry you’re going to do something impulsive that can’t be undone.”

Neal thought about Yvette and sighed before he could stop himself. Of course Peter would hear and have questions.

“OK. That touched a chord. Should I be worried?”

Sitting in an apartment filled with memories of Henry, Neal had never felt more alone. “There’s this girl,” he said automatically, and then stopped. What was he thinking, letting the conversation veer into personal ground?

“What about her?” Peter asked.

“No. I’m sorry. This is a case check in. She isn’t relevant to what we’re supposed to discuss.”

“Have you learned anything relevant to the case since your last check in?”

“No. All I did was paint and sleep.”

“Then the check in is over. Now we’re just talking. Friends. I’m closing the case file.” There was a sound of a folder being closed and pushed across a table. “We’re off the record.” When Neal didn’t say anything Peter added, “Would you rather talk to Noelle about it?”

“God, no,” Neal said in horror. He did not talk to his aunt about his love life. But he had learned in therapy that talking through things that troubled you was healthy, even cathartic. He craved the opportunity to share his pain with someone who would understand.

“Then who?” Peter persisted. “You learned from therapy you need to talk about stuff and not keep it bottled up, right? If you can name someone else you can talk to about whatever’s bothering you, I’ll stop harping on this.”

“Henry,” said Neal. His cousin was the one person he could tell anything. There was stuff he had to keep from Noelle, even from Peter due to his position in the FBI. But he didn’t have to keep secrets from Henry, and he hadn’t realized how much he missed having his best friend available to confide in.

“But you can’t talk to him. He’s been out of touch for weeks.”

“Yeah,” Neal said, surprised at the effort it took to keep the stress out of his voice. Henry’s disappearance really was getting to him.

“I’m not Henry, and I can’t pretend to be, but I’m here for you. Can you tell me at least part of what’s troubling you? What’s the deal with this girl you mentioned?”

Would it hurt to talk to Peter about Yvette? The need to keep him at arm’s length had added tension to every recent conversation, but Hughes had specifically said not to be overly familiar with Peter at work. With no witnesses from the Bureau, he wouldn’t be endangering Peter’s position by talking about a very personal pain. “She was the last person on my list to talk to here, and the last person I wanted to talk to. If I weren’t so worried about Henry, I’d have skipped that conversation.”

“I’ve been there,” Peter said, surprising Neal.

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm. Before I met El, I dated another agent. It seemed practical at the time. You know, someone who understands the demands of the job. But after we split, I was going out of my way to avoid tasks or cases that required working with her.”

Amazing. Maybe Peter really would get it. “This girl always had a crush on Henry. But she was too young when they first met, and even as she got older she wasn’t his type. Then the last time I was here she gave up on him and chased me instead.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“I convinced myself she really could want me more than she wanted him. I was flattered into closing my eyes to the warning signs. When I realized she was still hung up on Henry, it was like being in one of those cartoons where the character is flattened by an anvil. Letting her catch me when she chased me definitely falls in the category of things that can’t be undone, no matter how much I wish I could change things.”

“Listen, Neal, there are plenty of girls out there who are going to prefer you to Henry.”

“Yeah, but this is the one I needed to talk to. And our history made it weird yesterday when I had to ask if she’d heard from Henry.”

“You said you were flattered by her interest. So tell me, did this anvil flatten your ego or your heart?”

Neal relaxed into the daybed as Peter responded. It was such a relief to be able to confide in his father figure again. “You’re surprisingly perceptive about this.”

“Baseball players, even in the minors, deal with groupies. You learn they’re more interested in your role than in you as a person. Figuring that out is a blow to the ego, but if you’re paying attention it becomes obvious before things get serious.”

It was a good analogy. Henry, in his Shawn Legend identity, did attract groupies. And he’d learned to be flattered but not to take it too seriously. “Henry had that figured out. He has a lot of charisma, and he has experience with the effects. With… With this girl he realized she adored a persona, and not a person.”

“Smart,” said Peter. “That shows a lot of maturity, actually.”

“For the most part, it was good. Him being smart, I mean. I learned a lot from him. But every once in a while I resented being in his shadow. I’m grateful for everything he did for me, but he always assumes he should be in charge and stopping him when he’s made up his mind is about as easy as stopping a train going full speed.”

Peter chuckled. “That’s something he has in common with my brother. The ten-year age difference convinced Joe he was my superior in all things. By the time he went to college, he seemed more like an uncle than a brother. It’s only since I finished college that we’ve interacted like equals. I remember a talk we had when he filed for divorce. As bad as I felt for him, I was happy that he recognized he could turn to me for support.” There was a pause, and it sounded like Peter was drinking the juice he had poured. “When you were a teen, do you think Henry felt like he needed to be a dad for you?”

“No, he was in Peter Pan mode then. Parents were unnecessary and he wasn’t going to grow up enough to act like one himself. But towards the end he saw that I was craving a father and thought Robert would be the answer.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that yesterday. I still don’t get it. How did he go from hiding from Robert to thinking his dad was what you needed?”

Neal looked up at the faux skylight as he remembered Henry’s explanation after he’d thrown Robert and Neal together in Las Vegas. “Robert had a vision for what he wanted his son to be, and he came down hard when Henry deviated from what he expected. In the end Henry escaped rather than cave in, but on some level he missed having a dad. He thought that I came closer to Robert’s ideal, and hoped Robert would see that and would praise Henry for bringing him the son he really wanted.”

“Another instance of you being a substitute for Henry, but this time you were the superior model.”

“That was the theory. But Robert had too many prejudices for Henry’s plan to work. I’d been condemned as a criminal from the time I was a child, because Robert was a big believer in _like father like son_. He could never see past that.”

“His loss,” said Peter.

Neal smiled. He’d missed Peter’s campaign to convince Neal of his worth. “Sometimes I thought Robert had already found his substitute son before I came on the scene.”

“Did you meet this guy?” Peter asked. Suddenly he sounded all business.

“No. I can’t prove he even existed. For all I know it was my ego convincing me I failed to impress him because someone else had already taken Henry’s place. What stuck with me was a comment Robert made when it was just the two of us in his office. He said, ‘I wanted a Ferrari when my son was born and I got a Beetle. I don’t need you to pretend you’re a Ferrari. I already got what I need.’ I’ve disliked Ferraris ever since.”

“You’re sure about that? He said _Ferrari_?”

Neal sat up straight, intrigued at the excitement in Peter’s voice. “Yeah. What’s going on?”

“You think Henry has an accomplice in order to stay hidden. I think Robert does, too. We’d come across a couple of references to Ferrari in his files, and couldn’t link that name to an actual person. Do you think he had an affair, maybe has another son?”

Neal ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe. Or it could be someone he mentored and felt a connection with. Kind of like the way you…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t compare Peter to Robert. Then he noticed the time on the microwave clock. He hadn’t expected his conversation with Peter to go on this long. “I need to get ready for my flight. I’ll be in the air at noon Eastern, but I’ll call Tricia for the 6pm check in.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Flying into SeaTac airport, the pilot told the passengers that they could see Mount Rainier out the left side windows. The massive volcano poked above the cloud layer and reminded Neal that Angela’s birthday plans had changed a month ago. Originally everyone was supposed to gather in Seattle and then drive up to Paradise, about a third of the way up the volcano. The change of venue occurred around the time Henry disappeared. Coincidence? Neal didn’t think so. It would have been challenging for Henry to hide out in an area with only one hotel and one restaurant, and to meet up with Angela without being noticed. Downtown Seattle provided many more opportunities for clandestine meetings.

It was early afternoon when Neal arrived at the Edgewater hotel. Built on a pier, much of the hotel was suspended over the water, giving the restaurant and many rooms an excellent view. There were even photos of the Beatles fishing from their room when they had visited 40 years ago. It was too early to check in to his room, but Noelle had met Neal in the lobby and they went up to her room to stow his luggage and to have the session Peter had asked about.

Neal remembered to thank her, saying that an acquaintance in Austin had noticed a positive difference that he attributed to the therapy. Of course that opened a can of worms, as he couldn’t provide details about who this person was or why he had told Miranda he was in therapy. It was becoming more and more clear why agents talked to therapists supplied by the FBI.

Before they wrapped up, Noelle asked again why Neal hadn’t told anyone outside the family – and Peter and Elizabeth who felt like family – that he’d been accepted into Columbia. They’d already discussed this last week, but apparently she’d been able to tell he was holding something back. Considering what other reasons he could mention, he tossed out, “Well, there’s Robert.” Taking in her look of surprise he said, “Everyone talks about how he might try to kill me or Henry, but I think he’s petty enough to make my life miserable even if he can’t hurt me. If word gets out that I have something big and exciting planned like going to graduate school, he could try to ruin it for me.”

Noelle nodded, and looked pensive a moment before adding, “I should warn you, my parents are _very_ excited that you’re going to Columbia, and it may cause some tension with Angela.”

“What’s Angela got to do with it?”

“When she was selecting undergraduate schools, my father said he’d pay if she went to Columbia, or if she’d stay in Washington. He meant D.C., of course, but she was seeking her independence and chose the University of Washington here. She got a scholarship so money wasn’t an issue, but Dad was miffed. When David died late last summer, she took the next quarter off. That means instead of graduating now, she’ll be back for her last quarter in the fall. The arguments about graduate school are in full swing now. Dad insists she should go to Columbia and get an MBA, building on the business degree she’s getting here.”

“Business degree? I thought she was majoring in music.”

Noelle smiled. “You should have heard the yelling about that last night. She’d let her grandparents believe she was a business major with a music minor, but it was the other way around. Dad realized the truth and nearly hit the roof.” She added an Irish lilt to her voice, “No grandchild of mine is going to be an itinerant drifter of a musician. I went to college and built this life to make sure we left that sad Caffrey family tradition behind, and I’ll be blasted from this earth before I see my granddaughter throw away her life like that.”

“Ouch,” Neal said. “What does her mom say?”

“Paige says very little these days. She’s been drifting ever since David died. I thought she might finally snap out of it and stand up for Angela this time, but she didn’t do anything more than give Dad a half-hearted glare.” Noelle stood up. “And with that warning, let’s throw you in the midst of it all. It’s time you met Paige, and Mom and Dad will be eager to see you again. I’m sure Angela will be happy to have Dad’s attention move to you.”

Paige seemed like a nice enough woman, but had a vagueness about her that made Neal think she had only one foot in this world. Her husband had died, and somehow she had turned into a ghost. Edmund was exuberant in his greeting, proclaiming his pride in the one grandchild who had seen the light and enrolled in Columbia. He wasn’t thrilled that Neal’s field of study was art, as a starving artist wasn’t an improvement over the itinerant musician Caffreys who had emigrated from Ireland, but the fact that Neal could use his expertise in art at the FBI appeased the retired ambassador.

Unfortunately, Neal didn’t know of any FBI careers for musicians, and Edmund Caffrey wasn’t open to suggestions that music was a big business with plenty of opportunities beyond going on tour around the country to peddle songs. That had been the life Neal’s grandfather had known as a child, an uncertain and meagre existence he was determined to steer his offspring away from.

And this was Angela’s big secret. She couldn’t tell her family about Grace Legend. She needed to keep that identity secret to escape into her love of music without repercussions. Miranda’s comment from last night was making sense. Neal and Henry both loved music, but it wasn’t their true calling. They had nothing to lose if Stan Masterson blacklisted Urban Legend and its members. Angela, on the other hand, had the talent and the passion to go pro. Would she be throwing away her only shot if Urban Legend tried to bring down Masterson and failed?

Everyone tried to be on their best behavior when they walked to Anthony’s, a seafood restaurant at Pier 66. It was Angela’s birthday, they had all traveled here to be with her, and both Noelle and Irene worked to keep Edmund from saying anything more to upset the birthday girl. Neal had to give his grandmother Irene credit for grace under pressure. Between her talents as an actress and the skills she’d picked up as a diplomat’s wife, she kept the dinner conversation away from the recent argument and even got Angela to laugh. The meal was actually more fun than Neal had expected.

Watching his family members interact, Neal understood the concerns Noelle had mentioned last week about Angela. She seemed more stressed than he would have expected. Sure Edmund’s comments were annoying, but the stories Henry had told about their cousin portrayed a smart, lighthearted girl who could wrap Edmund around her finger. While Noelle attributed Angela’s tension to grief over her father’s death, Neal thought Henry was a factor, too. The plans to deal with Masterson involved seriously misleading their families. And if Angela was helping Henry stay hidden, that could be stressful, too.

To get the answers he wanted, Neal offered to escort Angela back to her apartment in the University District. Edmund heartily approved of this, and Angela agreed but Neal could tell she was hoping to ditch him. As soon as the rest of the family was on their way back to the hotel and out of earshot, Neal got to work. “Professor Laszlo was impressed with your performance. She’d like to get you into Julliard.”

Angela hid her pleasure, but Neal could tell it took a big effort. “Henry will be impressed. He didn’t think you’d catch on to what we were doing so soon.”

“You know the stuff he said after your performance about being better than you, that was all Shawn. And Shawn’s just a role. He’s not Henry.”

“I know.”

“But Angela and Grace aren’t as separate, are they?”

“They have to be.” She gestured in the direction their grandparents had taken. “I can’t let them find out about Grace.”

“Does Henry know you want to go pro?”

“I don’t get to talk to Henry. It’s just rush into a performance he’s arranged and rush back home again. Now that the group is officially split, we’re not even at the same performances.”

“There’s another way to deal with Masterson. A faster way. You know Henry’s plan is going to take months, right? It could make Grace Legend a full-time role when you’re supposed to be starting your last quarter here. That’s going to get attention. People will start asking questions, maybe figure out what you’re doing. If you can get Henry to talk to me, I can move this along much faster.” Neal looked out at Elliott Bay. Angela had been sneaking glances toward the bay throughout dinner. “Which boat is he on?”

“How did you know?”

“Relocating your party from the mountains to the waterfront, the sailboats you’ve been watching all evening, the fact that Robert gets horribly seasick and couldn’t follow you onto the water… it all adds up to Henry being here. And I know he’d want to see the family together even if he couldn’t join us.”

“He asked me to meet with him tonight, and then promised we were going to bring you into the plan in the morning.” A busboy came by to clear their table, and Angela started leading the way toward the restaurant’s entrance. “Getting through this faster sounds perfect to me. I just don’t see how.” She paused as they reached the lobby. Her phone was vibrating, and she read a text message, her eyes widening. She took a couple of steps backward and handed Neal the phone.

The message said Robert had been spotted outside the restaurant. “Henry has a cell phone?” Neal asked.

“He buys burners, and replaces them frequently. What are we going to do? I’ve been waiting nearly two weeks to talk to Henry about our next steps, but we can’t lead Robert to him.”

Neal handed Angela the phone the FBI had given him for this trip. “If I’m not back in three minutes, call the first number on speed dial.” Then he made his way to the men’s room, where he put in hazel contact lenses, tried to make his hair look spikier, and adjusted his posture to be more indolent. Then he strolled back to the lobby. “You can give that back now,” he told Angela, taking the phone he’d left with her.

“You… He told me you could imitate him but I didn’t imagine… You walk and sound just like him.”

Neal bought one of the restaurant’s T-shirts and handed Angela his suit jacket and tie. She placed them in the bag the restaurant had given him for the shirt, and then rolled her eyes at the whistles that accompanied Neal pulling off his dress shirt and pulling on the tee. It was easier to pull off the Henry impersonation when dressed casually, and the black long-sleeved tee suited his plan. “I’m going to go out there and catch a cab. Watch to see if Robert follows me.” Neal pulled an FBI business card out of the suit jacket in the bag, and scrawled two phone numbers on the back. “If he follows me, call me on the first number, and let me know what he’s wearing. That will make it easier for me to spot him. Assuming Robert follows me, you’re safe to meet with Henry. If he doesn’t follow me, or if you don’t see him, call the second number. It’s the local FBI, and they know Robert might cause trouble tonight. Tell them you’re with me and you need an escort. They’ll get you home and watch for Robert.”

Angela nodded and clasped the card tightly. Before Neal had taken more than a step toward the door, she moved forward and hugged him. “I’m sorry, Neal. I didn’t agree with Henry’s decision to keep you out of the first part of the plan, but I went along with it, because… Because that’s Henry, you know? Always in charge. He won’t explain his plans, but they always seem to work out for the best so you just learn to follow him.”

“Not this time,” Neal said, hugging Angela back for a moment. “He’s too distracted by Robert. He’s missing things, not making the best decisions. I’ve got to go, or Robert’s going to head to the hotel. We’ll talk later, OK?”

“OK.”

Neal took his time walking to the curb and hailing a cab. He asked the driver to take him to Pioneer Square, and to take it slow because he was a tourist and wanted to take in the sights. Barely a minute after the cab started moving, Angela called. Robert was wearing tan slacks and a light green shirt. “Thanks,” Neal said. “Wait until he’s out of sight, and then get out of there. I’ll give you a call if I can meet up with you tonight.”

It was a few days past the summer solstice, which meant 16 hours of daylight in Seattle. The sun was still up, and Neal should be able to see Robert when they left their cabs. Traffic was light, and even taking things slow they would be in the historic Pioneer Square neighborhood in a few minutes. Fortunately Urban Legend had come the Seattle area several times to perform, and Neal liked exploring cities. He knew his way around the Seattle Art Museum and many of the surrounding areas.

Neal called the Seattle FBI to let them know where he planned to lure Robert. With any luck, they could arrest him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve overindulged in updates on the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for this chapter, because I love Seattle. 
> 
> Many thanks to Silbrith for having the courage in her role as beta to push me to make this chapter stronger. She had a huge impact on the phone call between Peter and Neal.
> 
> In the next chapter we finally meet Robert!


	10. Brick Walls

**Seattle, WA. Saturday evening. June 26, 2004.**

Neal had been looking out the taxi window for the right place to stop, when the cell phone the FBI had given him vibrated. He looked down to see a string of text messages he didn’t recognize. It looked like Angela had been texting Henry from this phone while Neal had been disguising himself as his cousin.

The newest message read: _Angela still with u?_

Neal responded: _On her way to u._

_Robert still around?_

_Following me._

_Where?_

The taxi came to a stop and Neal looked up. The crosswalks were teeming with people. “What’s going on?” he asked the cab driver.

“Mariners’ game just ended.”

Neal closed his eyes in frustration, and for a moment wished Peter had come along on this trip. He would have known the baseball team’s schedule and could have warned Neal about this complication. Normally the Pioneer Square area wasn’t very busy this time of night. As people left to head home to the suburbs or to upscale condos in other downtown neighborhoods, all that should have been left were the few people who lived in the area, straggling tourists heading back to their hotels, an assortment of panhandlers, and maybe a couple of drug dealers plying their trade. There were plenty of dark alleys between hundred-year-old buildings, plus the bus and train tunnels. He’d thought he could lead Robert on a chase without endangering anyone else.

He hadn’t counted on cheering sports fans flooding the streets. Robert probably wouldn’t do anything stupid like shooting into a crowd of people in order to kill him, but Neal couldn’t be sure. It had been so long since anyone had contact with Robert, he could only guess at the man’s mental state.

Several texts had rolled by unanswered as Neal considered his options. His phone rang, and when he answered Henry said, “I’m at the restaurant. Where are you headed?”

“Angela’s safe?”

“She’s on her way to her apartment. Where are you?” Henry demanded.

“Pioneer Square. I’m going to the Underground.” Neal hung up as Henry started to swear. He directed the driver to take him to the location where the Seattle Underground tour started.

“Last tour was almost an hour ago,” the driver protested.

“I’m just meeting someone there,” Neal said. He sent one last text, this one to Tricia, letting her know he’d be late for the next check in. At nearly 9pm in Seattle, it was minutes away from midnight on the East Coast. A few blocks away from the Underground tour entrance, Neal had the driver stop. Paying in cash with a generous tip, Neal hopped out and sprinted toward the entrance. It was locked, but he had time to pick it and get inside before Robert could catch up.

In the late 1800s, a fire and frequent flooding prompted the city of Seattle to fill in the first several blocks of downtown, turning first floors of buildings into basements. The current streets were 12 feet or more above the original streets. It was still possible to walk through parts of the original downtown, now underground. The space had been abandoned, and then forgotten for decades. When Neal and Henry had taken the Seattle Underground tour back in 1999, they hadn’t been able to resist returning after hours for an epic game of hide-and-seek. Neal was certain he could keep Robert chasing him long enough for the Feds to arrive. He wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find him, though. Cell coverage probably wasn’t great down there.

Six months of Tuesday Tails had prepared Neal for this. When he’d first joined the FBI and noticed members of the team following him over his lunch hours, he’d turned it into a game that evolved into a weekly training event as he gained their trust. From the beginning he’d easily lost the FBI agents who tried to tail him, but had realized that losing them in the first few minutes wasn’t much fun. The trick was to get far enough ahead to plan out his next move, tease his pursuer with a glimpse of him, and then lose his tail over and over again.

In his black slacks and black T-shirt, fading into the shadows was easy for Neal. Robert’s lighter clothing had worked for disappearing into crowds of tourists in their light-colored summer wear, but in the tunnels he stood out more than Neal.

Making people like him was such an integral part of being a con artist that encounters with Robert had always been disconcerting. Once he’d become aware of the hatred under Robert’s initial pretense of acceptance, Neal had tried over and over to discover a way to improve Robert’s opinion of him, but to no avail. Even more troubling was this experience of pretending to be Robert’s son, and still fearing for his life. The last time he’d encountered Robert was three years ago, and then the man seemed disappointed and annoyed with Henry, but not murderous. Being passed over for the Winston-Winslow CEO role while Henry was chosen to be groomed for the job had caused Robert to show his true colors.

Maybe Neal was lucky not to remember his own dad. James couldn’t hurt him the way Robert twisted Henry’s heart these last few months.

About fifteen minutes into the chase, Neal hid behind the door of an old bank vault. This was the longest he’d gone without letting Robert see him, and the man’s frustration was growing. “Why don’t you quit hiding and face me like a man?” Robert yelled.

Neal eyed his planned escape route with dismay. The doorway that he’d used five years ago when he’d been here with Henry had collapsed, perhaps a casualty of Seattle’s 2001 earthquake. He could probably make his way over the pile of bricks partially blocking the passageway, but what would he find in the next room? As quietly as he could, he slid toward the opening and tried to look through. He saw a light, which meant another clear passage used by the tour. “Get rid of the gun!” Neal responded in an impersonation of Henry. “Make it fair. Then we’ll talk.”

Crawling over the bricks wasn’t easy. He should have worn jeans for this, not dress slacks that snagged and tore on the ragged edges of the crumbling masonry. He was almost over the bricks when the unstable pile slid under him, dumping him on the ground on the other side. The bricks continued to slide, and he covered his head but couldn’t protect the rest of his body. Fortunately the bricks weren’t falling far, only giving him bruises rather than breaking bones, but moving out from under them was going to be noisy and slow. Things might have turned in Robert’s favor.

“Hi, Dad.” Henry’s voice. Not Neal impersonating him, this time. Henry was really here.

How had he found them so fast, ahead of the FBI? He couldn’t have GPS tracking equipment on him. Neal really needed to find out who was helping Henry. Neal started rising up from the floor, letting the noise of the falling bricks distract Robert from Henry.

“Both of you,” Robert said. “I should have known. You don’t have what it takes to face your old man on your own.”

Before Henry could respond, FBI agents swarmed in. Robert complied with their order to put his gun on the ground, and was surprisingly obedient as he was cuffed and led outside.

Henry scrambled toward Neal, brushing away bricks and helping him stand. “You OK?” Henry led him back toward the lighted area and Neal let himself lean on his cousin until they found a place to sit down. “You look like you were hit by a ton of bricks.”

“Very funny.” Neal looked at the cuts and scrapes on his legs. Nothing major, but he’d be in some pain tonight. “Listen, you’ve got to stop avoiding me. I can help.”

“Yeah, almost getting shot by Robert was amazingly helpful.”

“Maybe I can’t catch him alone, but neither can you. We should work together on this. And I can move the Masterson case along faster. We need to wrap it up before Angela’s supposed to be back in school.”

“I saw what’s happening online. That your doing?”

“With Mozzie, yeah.”

An agent approached them. “We need to talk to you about what happened in here.”

Henry stood. “Of course. But first he could use some medical attention.”

The agent trained her flashlight over Neal and then sent a colleague to grab a first aid kit. Once someone was cleaning the cuts on Neal’s legs, Henry walked off with the agent.

Distracted by the questions from the medic, Neal could hear only snatches of Henry’s conversation with the agent. He heard his cousin say “Neal Caffrey” and “my cousin” and “take care of him” before the agent nodded and walked toward Neal.

“All right, Henry,” she said, “let’s get your statement and then we’ll get you a ride back to your hotel.”

“What?” Neal looked back toward where Henry had been, but his cousin had disappeared. “I’m Neal Caffrey.”

“He said you were a practical joker. I understand this has been a stressful ordeal and you want to unwind, but I need you to be serious here. Mr. Caffrey showed us his consultant’s badge. Please don’t try to confuse things.”

“I’m not. Hold on.” Neal took out the hazel contacts. Then he stood, feeling the ache in his abused muscles. He pulled out his wallet. “See for yourself.”

The agent saw credit cards and a New York driver’s license in Neal’s name. She held up the license, shining her flashlight on the picture to compare to Neal. “If you’re Neal Caffrey, then who the hell was that and how did he get your badge?”

“That was my cousin Henry Winslow, and he has some experience as a pickpocket. He probably took my badge when he helped me walk over here.”

“Mathison!” the agent snapped. Another agent strode over. “Where did our alleged FBI consultant go?”

Mathison looked surprised. “He said he was feeling claustrophobic, so I sent him upstairs. He’s waiting out by our cars.”

“Double check on that. If you see him keep him in place, even if you have to restrain him.”

But Henry was long gone. He’d left Neal’s badge inside one of the FBI agents’ cars. The agent swore up and down that his car had been locked. Neal shrugged and said Henry had experience breaking into cars, too.

On the ride to the Seattle FBI offices with Agent Mathison, Neal wondered why Henry had disappeared. With Robert under arrest, he was safe now. The best thing he could do was give his testimony about what had happened tonight.

It wasn’t until Neal got inside the Bureau that he put the pieces together. The flurry of activity in the office wasn’t indicative of a team preparing to interrogate a suspect. This was more like preparing for a manhunt. Therefore he was disappointed but not surprised to hear that Robert had escaped.

“How?” he asked when the agent in charge broke the news.

“Please, sit down,” Agent Yoshida said. His office remained an oasis of calm compared to the chaos of the manhunt. “From what I can tell, an imposter in an FBI jacket joined the team shortly after they arrived on the scene. He volunteered to wait outside watching the underground entrances, and he helped our agent lead Robert Winslow away when they emerged. After the agent unlocked the car, the imposter knocked him out, unlocked the prisoner’s cuffs, and disappeared. Robert Winslow drove off in the agent’s car, but just far enough to get lost in a crowd. He left the car with a hotel valet and disappeared.”

Neal nodded. “This morning Agent Burke told me he suspected Robert has an accomplice. It sounds like he was right.” That explained why Robert had been so docile when he was led away. Neal had always thought Robert would go down shooting. But Robert had known he wasn’t going down. He must have gotten word to his accomplice at the same time Neal was contacting the Bureau.

“Just one accomplice?” Yoshida asked.

“I doubt there are many people he would trust,” Neal said.

“His son, perhaps?”

“Henry was with me and your agents when Robert disappeared,” Neal pointed out.

“Keeping my agents busy and distracted with a false story. And now he’s nowhere to be found. You have to admit it looks suspicious.”

Now Neal faced a dilemma, because Henry wasn’t the only one who had picked someone’s pocket. Neal had swapped phones with his cousin. Until Henry noticed and tossed the device, he was carrying the phone the FBI had given Neal, the one they used to track him tonight. Did he trust the FBI with the means to locate his cousin? “He’s hiding from a deranged father who wants to kill him. I think he’s justified in being a little paranoid.”

“How did he even know where Robert would be?”

“I told him. I was texting him on my way to Pioneer Square,” Neal said.

The agent shook his head. He glanced down at his notes a moment and then looked at Neal again. “You work for Peter Burke?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I handled a few cases with him. When he was first starting out as a probie, I was on an assignment in DC. He was impressive, and I’ve heard good things since then.”

“He’s a good agent. A good person,” Neal said, trying to keep his praise in terms that Hughes would approve.

“And Henry is family, and I’m a stranger. I get it. But remember you work for the FBI. You bought into the Bureau and what we do. We bring a lot to the table. We could help you and your family, but not if you shut us out.”

It was much the same message Neal had tried to convey to Henry. He studied the agent, using all of the skills he’d gained as a con artist in reading people. Then he pulled out Henry’s cell phone. “I swapped phones with him. It won’t take him long to notice, but until then you can track him. He has the phone you were using to track me.”

The agent stood and opened the door to his office, and yelled, “Mathison! Get that GPS tracking gear up here.”

Mathison had barely plugged in the equipment when Henry’s phone rang. Neal could see the calling number was the phone he’d slipped into his cousin’s pocket. He picked up the phone, aware of two FBI agents listening, and said, “Henry, are you OK?”

“Peter just called this number, demanding to know if _you_ were OK. Took me a minute to convince him I wasn’t you. Nice job on the lift, by the way. I never noticed you taking my phone.”

“Robert got away.”

“Yeah. I saw him driving off as I reached ground level. I made sure the agent wasn’t too badly hurt and then tried to follow.”

“He left the car at a hotel.”

“So we have no idea where he went. Damn it, Neal! You put yourself at risk like that, and for what?”

“We almost had him. Next time –”

“No, Neal. No next time. You need to stay out of this. I can’t believe Peter let you get involved in this case.”

“I’m not working Robert’s case. I’m on a missing person’s case, looking for you.” When there wasn’t a response, Neal continued, “You don’t have to be alone in this. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought and have some ideas you need to hear. Please. I’m gonna go crazy if you keep shutting me out.”

“And you’ll keep taking crazy risks,” Henry grumbled. “You know I’m going to ditch this phone, right?”

“Yeah, I know you’ll fall off the radar again. But you know how to contact me. Postcards aren’t exactly cutting it, man. I’m not the only one going nuts. Your mom is making a good show of it, but she’s worried about you.”

Neal could hear the lapping of waves. Henry must be near the boat he was using, or even on it. “I don’t want to shut you out,” Henry said. “Give me a little more time. I need to think things through, revise my plan.”

“I could help with the plan. Hell, the FBI and Win-Win all want to help. You don’t have to do this alone. Just come back and talk to me.”

“I can’t go home. I can’t lead Robert back to my family and friends. Staying on the move, staying alone, that’s the safest for everyone.”

“Everyone but you.” Another long pause. “Henry?” The line had gone dead. Neal put the phone down and looked at the agents. “He ditched the phone.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter spoke with Tricia, with agents in Seattle, and even – much to his surprise – with Henry before he finally got through to Neal. The kid was at the Seattle Bureau offices, filling the local agents in on what had happened. Peter was online, reading their updates to the case files, and getting increasingly concerned.

By the time Yoshida put Neal on the phone, Peter had a long list of questions, ranging from “What’s this about you getting hurt?” to “What the hell were you thinking?” to “How did Robert get away?” to “How did Henry get your phone?”

Neal’s answers were calm and brief, and at first Peter was impressed by his professionalism. But soon he was worried. Was the kid in shock or something? Why was he acting so distant? What had happened to the Neal who was confiding in him this morning?

When Yoshida took the phone back, he reiterated what Neal had said. His injuries were bumps and bruises, nothing a hot shower and a few rounds of over-the-counter pain meds couldn’t handle. An agent was going to take Neal back to his hotel, where he could follow that recommended regimen and get some rest. The agent would keep watch at the hotel until the family checked out the next morning, making sure Robert didn’t show up to cause trouble.

When Peter hung up, El asked him what was wrong. “I wish I knew,” he told her. “Remember after he left on Father’s Day, you asked if we were pushing him too fast into being like a member of the family?”

El sat beside him at the dining room table. “You said if he needed distance, you’d let him have it.”

“I didn’t expect anything so extreme. And then he bounces back and forth. Sometimes it seems like he resents having to work with me. Then this morning he seemed pleased to confide in me. Tonight it was like talking to a stranger.”

“What happened tonight?”

“He took a foolish risk, caught up with both Robert and Henry, sustained what everyone tells me are minor injuries, and then both of our Winslow fugitives got away.”

El took his hand. “He must be upset. You can’t expect him to be acting normally right now. He’s probably hiding under a mask of calm while he works through everything that happened tonight.”

“I know. I just… My gut tells me there’s more going on with him.”

“What are you most afraid of?”

“When things went sour with Robert in 2001 and Neal decided to rebel, he turned to a life of crime – something Robert would have disapproved of. If he’s rebelling now –”

“Rebelling against you?”

“Against me or the authority of the FBI, or both. If that’s what’s happening, what form is that rebellion going to take? He could get into trouble far beyond anything I can help him get out of.”

“Is there anything you can do to watch out for him, to stop him before things go too far?”

“There are ways to monitor him.” Peter couldn’t go into the details. The NSA’s data was top secret.

“I can’t imagine he’ll like that.”

“No, he won’t. But keeping him safe is more important.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was surprised to see his Aunt Paige in the lobby when he got back to the hotel. He did his best to hide his limp as he walked over to her. But based on past experience, he assumed she wouldn’t notice his awkward gait, not to mention the ripped and bloodied slacks, or the fact that he’d exchanged a suit jacket and tie for a black T-shirt.

He’d used his personal phone to confirm that Angela was safely back in her University District apartment. She said she’d had only a few minutes to talk to Henry, and had learned nothing of his plans.

Now he approached Angela’s mother with care. He assumed she knew nothing of what had happened with Robert tonight, and didn’t want to worry her. He went for a carefree grin and asked, “Waiting up for me?”

She nodded. “I don’t sleep much these days, so I volunteered.”

Neal’s eyes widened. He’d been kidding. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had waited up for him. His mom’s drinking usually put her to sleep soon after dinner, and she had remained unaware of her son’s coming and going at night. “All present and accounted for,” he said. “I’m here, and Angela’s safe and sound in her apartment.”

She nodded vaguely, and Neal was going to suggest they go up to their rooms when she said, “They told me you looked like my husband. They thought it might bother me, but it doesn’t. They don’t realize that I see David everywhere. It’s rather comforting to have him see me back.”

Neal perched on the arm of a chair across from her. “A friend of mine died a few months ago. Sometimes when I’m in a room I associate with Byron, I almost hear his voice.”

“Do you remember your Uncle David?”

Neal shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was too young when we left. I don’t remember either of you.”

“His middle name was George, too.”

Neal had used his middle name as an alias several times. He’d never paid attention to the fact that his uncle shared the name. “Was I named for him?”

“I believe it’s Irene’s father’s name. Neal was Edmund’s father. But the truth is, your parents were huge _Star Wars_ fans. I always thought they had George Lucas in mind when they named you.”

She had an infectious grin, and Neal couldn’t help grinning back. “Where did Grace come from?” he asked, referring to Angela’s middle name.

“Did you know I was an aeronautics engineer when I met David? He was a fighter pilot, of course. Both of us were into planes and flying. It drove him crazy that I was sharp as a whip, but scattered. _Ditzy_ was his word for it. When he annoyed me, I called him George. And he started calling me Gracie.”

Neal had to smile at her _sharp as a whip_ , which seemed to combine _smart as a whip_ and _sharp as a knife_. “George Burns and Gracie Allen? That’s where you got Grace?”

Paige laughed. “You actually know who they are? Somehow it led to David and me reenacting old comedy routines at family gatherings. That’s how I got over my fear of the illustrious Caffreys, by making them laugh.”

“You were afraid of them?”

“Especially the twins. I was terrified of getting them mixed up. The first time I met them was a few days after your christening. David was supposed to attend, to be your godfather, but a storm delayed our flight. That whole trip, I could never keep track of which of his sisters was your mother and which one was Henry’s mom. They looked and sounded exactly alike.”

Neal was starting to understand what his uncle had seen in Paige. She had a different, delightful perspective that took him off guard and provided an unexpected respite from the storm of anger and fear he’d been internalizing after everything went wrong tonight. “They loved you, didn’t they?”

“Yes. For all your grandfather’s bluster, they are nice people. Their patience with me this last year has been astounding. They’re grieving for David, too, I know. And they’re coping with it much better than I am.”

Thinking back to some of his conversations with Noelle he said, “People grieve differently. You can’t really compare or judge how it hits them.”

“All the time you spent away, and you still retained that Caffrey kindness.” She stood. “We should go upstairs. I can’t imagine what got your clothing in such a state, but I’m sure you want to clean up.” As they waited for the elevator she asked, “Have you found Henry yet? Noelle has been so worried.”

“What?” The elevator dinged and they stepped inside. “How did you know I’m looking for him?”

“Your hair,” Paige said as Neal pushed the button for their floor. “You wear it like David’s. I noticed that at dinner. But now it’s all Henry-like. And you’re walking more like him now. Why else would you impersonate him? Does Angela know? I won’t mention it if it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Sharp as a whip,” Neal muttered. “Uncle David was right. Let’s make it our secret for now. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had dreaded the 3am Pacific Time check in, but when the time came he needed to get up anyway for more pain medication, and walking around the room kept his bruised knees from stiffening up. “How are things in Maine?” he asked Tricia.

“Not as exciting as on your side of the country. Peter sent a long email with the updates.”

“Then you have all the latest information. Once I finished talking to Peter, I came back to my hotel and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Have you thought of anything else, now that you’ve had a chance to reflect on what happened?”

Neal looked out the window, and the lights of the ships reminded him of something he had left out of his conversation with the Seattle agents. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Henry is hiding out on boats on a regular basis. Renting them maybe, or borrowing ones that belong to his Winslow family members without their knowledge. That gets him around without the checks and security you get at airports or other modes of travel. No expense of hotel rooms. If the boats are stocked with food, he can avoid using a credit card to buy meals at restaurants or grocery stories.”

“That’s good. Do you think Robert is doing the same thing?”

“Robert can’t stand boats. He’s the only Winslow who gets seasick.” Neal closed the curtains and sat on the bed. “Did they get a good description of the guy who helped Robert escape?”

“Unfortunately, no. The only person who saw his face was the agent he hit. The agent has a concussion and can’t remember what happened.”

“Traffic cams?” Neal suggested hopefully.

“The images are grainy. Those cameras are used to monitor cars, not people, and it was getting dark. All we’ve got is a Caucasian male, upper 20s to 30, with dark hair.”

That wasn’t much to go on. One possibility had come to mind, and Neal had to think about whether he could share that suspicion with the FBI. There were questions he couldn’t answer about this suspect, not before clearing it with Henry. He’d promised on more than one occasion that he wouldn’t tell anyone.

“That reminds me,” Tricia was saying, “in your report you said Henry told you that Robert had been spotted outside the restaurant. But we don’t have any record of a call or text to your phone before you left the restaurant.”

“He texted Angela. Probably realized my phone was being monitored.”

“And how did he know Robert was spotted? It seems unlikely he could have picked him out with binoculars, as far away as his boat must have been. And if he was watching the traffic cam feeds, it’s a lot of videos to be monitoring and as I told you, the image quality leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I have a working theory,” Neal said. “Henry knew where the birthday party was planned. He couldn’t join us but would have wanted to see us. What if he had someone plant a few cameras, high quality ones, at the restaurant and along the route we walked from the hotel? They could serve double duty, bringing him a view of us while also monitoring around us for Robert.”

“I suppose the cameras are gone by now?”

“Probably, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. Maybe someone who works at the restaurant noticed and can give a description of the person who installed them.”

There was a pause and the sound of a pen on paper. Tricia was taking notes. Then she asked, “Why didn’t you mention this to the Seattle Bureau last night?”

“I didn’t think of it until I got back here and had a chance to unwind.”

“You could have called them.”

“I fell asleep, OK? By the time the pain meds kicked in and I relaxed enough to think clearly about everything, I thought I’d just close my eyes for a moment. Next thing I knew the alarm clock was reminding me about our check in.”

“Your report mentioned, and I quote, ‘an altercation with a pile of bricks.’ Sounds painful.”

“That sounds like Henry’s report, the one he gave when they thought he was me. But yeah, it was painful. Not as painful as both Robert and Henry getting away, though. I’d face all the bricks in the world if I could change how things ended.” He yawned.

“It wasn’t your fault, Neal. You did everything you could.”

“Mm-hmm.” The painkillers were kicking in. Maybe he shouldn’t have settled on the bed.

Tricia chuckled. “The check in times work well for me in Maine, but not so much for you on the West Coast. Are you asleep?”

“Just about.”

“Get some rest, then. You deserve it. And try to stay out of trouble. Peter’s worried enough as it is.”

“Mm-hmm. ‘Night.” Neal ended the call and fell asleep, dreaming about boats and guns and bricks and father figures, both good and bad. He woke with an idea of who might be Henry’s accomplice, but it was so outrageous he didn’t mention it in his next check in with Tricia. This was something he’d have to research when he returned to New York.

__  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Seattle Underground is real but probably not extensive enough for the chase described in this chapter. 
> 
> For an update on the Noelle and Joe subplot, see chapter 24 of Silbrith’s Woman in Blue which will be posted on Thursday. ** Barely restraining myself from spoilers. Suffice it to say I love chapter 24 of that story. **
> 
> In my next chapter, Neal says goodbye to Seattle and his family, and heads to Las Vegas. His adventures there will span two chapters, and then he’ll go back to New York.


	11. What Happens in Vegas

**Seattle. Sunday morning. June 27, 2004.**

At breakfast in the hotel restaurant, Neal debated with himself. If he told Noelle and his grandparents about spotting Robert last night, would it worry them for no reason? Or did they need to know to stay on guard?

“Dear boy, will you tell us what’s troubling you?” Irene Caffrey asked.

Neal stopped staring out the window and met his grandmother’s green eyes. She often surprised him with her ability to know what her family members were thinking or feeling. His long absence in WITSEC hadn’t impaired her ability to read him.

“Will it help if I told you that Graham called?” Noelle asked, referring to Graham Winslow, her ex-father-in-law and retired CEO of Winston-Winslow. “I’ve already told Mom and Dad that Robert was almost captured by the FBI here last night, and that you were mentioned in the report.”

“And Henry?” Neal asked.

Noelle looked surprised. “No, he didn’t mention Henry. Is he in Seattle?” She glanced around, as if expecting her son to come strolling in.

“He’s probably gone by now. Robert was watching us last night, and Henry was watching Robert. I had a minute to talk to him before he went chasing after his dad again.”

“Is…” Noelle faltered. “Is Henry all right?”

“He looked fine. Obsessed, but otherwise normal enough.” Neal had been pondering how his aunt would react to questions about her ex-husband, and decided to give it a shot. “I’ve been wondering about what happens when we all leave Seattle. Do you think Robert would hurt Angela?”

Noelle sat back to consider the question, and a minute later shook her head. “No, I don’t. Robert doesn’t put a lot of value in women. If we’d had a daughter, he would have ignored her.”

“Such a stupid man,” Irene added. “You should have divorced him earlier.” She pounded her husband on the shoulder. “You and your ‘Don’t interfere. Let them pick their own husbands.’ We should have been more involved.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Mom,” Noelle told her. “Robert was very charming, and I was very in love. And in Dad’s defense, when he saw my marriage was crumbling he offered to let Henry and me stay with you if Robert wasn’t treating us well.” She squeezed her father’s arm and smiled up at him. “I know you worried and wanted me to leave Robert earlier when things got rocky, but I still had hopes we could get past our issues. I didn’t want to abandon my dream of having the kind of marriage you two had, and I wanted to show Henry you don’t just give up on people.”

“Your mother’s right, though. She did a better job in picking me than our girls did in picking husbands.” Looking fondly at his wife, Edmund added, “We’ll let you interrogate any contenders for Angela’s hand.”

“She’s too young yet,” Irene said. “But Noelle, you’re too young to be alone. Come back to DC with us. I’ll find you someone.”

“Really?” Neal asked, smiling at his grandmother. “How would you do that?”

“Well, by going to a bar I suppose,” Irene said. “Isn’t that where most couples meet these days?”

“Better be careful,” Neal warned. “A lot of the men will swarm around you. Anyway, Noelle’s already met a –”

“What time is your flight, Neal?” Noelle interrupted before Neal could mention she was dating Peter’s older brother.

“You’re really leaving us this morning?” Irene asked. “But you barely got here. I thought you would go to Mount Rainier with us today.”

“Last-minute change of plans,” Neal explained. “There’s a stop I need to make on my way back to New York.”

“You’ll come see us in DC,” Edmund insisted. “Spend some time with us this summer.”

“Of course he will,” Irene said. Turning to Neal she added, “You wouldn’t miss Henry’s birthday party.”

Neal was surprised at Irene’s confidence that Henry would be able to attend a party this summer, until he remembered what he’d heard about her confidence that WITSEC wouldn’t keep him away from the family forever. Irene was an ingrained optimist. “No, I wouldn’t miss that.” He stood up. “I do need to get my luggage and catch a cab to the airport.”

Noelle contrived to follow him to the elevator. “You haven’t told them about Joe yet?” Neal asked. “You’ve already met his daughters.”

“I’ve invited him to join us for the Fourth of July in DC. I’m planning to talk to them about it this afternoon. Or maybe on the day before he joins us for the holiday. I haven’t decided yet.” It was so rare to see Noelle flustered that Neal chuckled. When they got out of the elevator, she followed him to his room and asked, “Did you have a chance to talk to Angela before everything else happened last night?”

Neal nodded, recalling his aunt’s concerns that Angela was brooding over her father’s death. “She’s worried about the future, about what she’ll do after college, and about Henry. She’s close to him, too. She’s annoyed and concerned he hasn’t turned to her for help. Same as you and me. We all want to do something for him, and he’s pushing all of us away. He insists he has to deal with Robert alone, but I made a pitch for letting the FBI and Win-Win have a role. He’ll think about it.” Neal unlocked his door. His bags were already packed. He grabbed them and put on a jacket. It was barely 60 degrees in Seattle this morning and there was a brisk breeze off the cold Pacific. Las Vegas would be a drastic change in climate.

Noelle raised a brow. “He’ll think about it. The same way you thought about getting help for your flashbacks?”

Neal closed the door behind them and led the way back to the elevator. “Hey, Henry’s almost as smart as me. He saw what I went through. Even someone as hardheaded as he is should have learned from watching that.”

Irene and Edmund were waiting for him in the lobby, and Paige had joined them. Everyone hugged him goodbye, with entreaties to visit them soon. Then he was on his way to Las Vegas. But not before Noelle whispered a warning to behave himself, or she’d point his matchmaking grandmother in his direction.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had chosen to stay at Caesar’s Palace at random, to give the FBI something to focus their attention on while he spent his time elsewhere. The fact is, he’d misled Peter and Tricia about his reasons for coming here. He didn’t think anyone here was harboring Henry or acting as his accomplice. Henry had many acquaintances in Vegas, but not trusted friends.

What Neal suspected was that Henry came here to gamble. It was a perfect way for his cousin to pick up money. He could cash in his chips, literally getting cash, so that the transaction wasn’t tracked to his name. Neal had two items on his agenda here. First was giving a couple of performances to keep the Urban Legend con spinning. Second was flirting with dealers in the poker rooms in his disguise as Henry, to find out if anyone recalled seeing him in the last few weeks, confirming his theory of how Henry could afford to stay hidden without using his credit cards or accessing his bank account.

As a kid, Neal had hustled pool, and he was an expert at it. That was one of the few skills he’d taught Henry. Henry had taught him poker. Many evenings in Austin, when Neal was recovering from his bout of pneumonia, they played poker or chess. Henry excelled at both games, and he’d taught Neal well.

Before he got started, Neal got the first check in over with. He’d dreaded the idea of check ins with the FBI from Vegas when they were supposed to occur every six hours. Calling every three hours was even worse. He needed to keep the interruptions short so that he could accomplish everything he wanted. Plus, he needed to think up twice as many plausible reports to keep Tricia satisfied that he wasn’t going too far off script.

He’d checked into his hotel and unpacked, lingering to make this 3pm local time call before heading out. Knowing Tricia didn’t want to hear that he planned to hang out in casinos – exactly what Peter had said he didn’t approve for this trip – he explained that most of his contacts here were people he knew only by first name or alias. He didn’t have phone numbers or email addresses to contact them in advance. His plan was to wander in the areas he was likely to find them. That meant he still couldn’t give Tricia the itinerary she wanted. She wasn’t thrilled, and made it clear that she would give him a chance to prove his plan would work only until his next check in. She expected more detail next time, some kind of proof that he really was on a path that could uncover how Henry stayed hidden.

Dressed and in character as his cousin, Neal went to the north end of the Strip. He wandered into the casinos, finding the poker games, and caught the eye of various dealers. If one seemed to recognize him, he struck up a conversation and played a few hands.

When it was getting close to 6pm, he went to the Venetian, planning to eat in one of their restaurants. But first he made his way to the canal, and found the manager of the gondoliers who guided the boats and serenaded the passengers. He was pleased to see Rocco was still in charge. Four years ago he’d asked Rocco for a job as a gondolier, and now on every return trip he plagued the man. Neal paused outside Rocco’s office to take out the hazel contacts he wore for his Henry disguise. Here he wanted to be recognized as himself.

Neal strolled into the man’s office, singing an Italian love song. Rocco looked up in anticipation of finding his next great gondolier, only to frown thunderously when he recognized Neal. “You again? How many times must I tell you? No!” He switched to Italian, gesturing broadly as he complained.

Neal argued with him in fluent, loud Italian. He matched Rocco’s gestures and anyone listening to him would have thought both men were from Italy, but that wasn’t good enough for Rocco.

Neal’s phone vibrated as they reached his favorite part of this argument. He’d timed it perfectly. He was five minutes late for the check in, and Tricia was calling. Switching to English he asked her to wait a moment and then yelled back at Rocco, “I am _not_ too Irish!”

Following Neal back to English, Rocco responded loudly enough for Tricia to hear, “Pale skin, blue eyes. I’d be a laughingstock if I hired you. Even your cousin would be better, and he doesn’t speak a word of Italian.” Rocco always fell back on this argument, but it was merely part of the game they played. Four years ago he’d refused to hire Neal because the minimum age for his performers was 25, and he wouldn’t believe a 21-year-old Neal was old enough, no matter what his fake ID said. When Neal didn’t want to take _no_ for an answer, Rocco threw out the “too Irish” line, and now it was a standard part of this routine.

“I should sue you for discrimination,” Neal said, repeating his usual response.

“Just like your cousin. I hired him for one night to shut him up.”

That must have been recent, because Henry hadn’t told Neal about it. “No you didn’t. You’re lying.”

The accusation set Rocco off in Italian again, as he searched through a binder and produced a picture of Henry in the gondolier’s costume.

Neal couldn’t help laughing. “Please tell me I can have a copy of this. If I threaten to give this to his mom, he’ll do anything I ask.”

Rocco finally smiled. In the end he was always charmed by Neal, even if he steadfastly refused to hire him. He actually welcomed these boisterous arguments in his office, located near the area where various performers at the Venetian dressed for their acts. He wanted to be heard by them. Word spread like wildfire among the latest group of performers and their friends that the manager was an eccentric. People here liked eccentric, and Rocco would soon get a new crop of applicants eager to prove that they could convince him to give them a try.

In calmer tones, he ordered his assistant to print a copy, and told Neal that the photo had been taken a month ago.

Neal then explained that he had a beautiful woman waiting to talk to him on the phone, and Rocco waved him away in perfect understanding. Following the assistant who was printing the photo, Neal returned his attention to the phone in his hand. He thanked Tricia for waiting and then asked, “How’s your vacation?”

“Glorious. Tomorrow we’re taking the boys on a cruise to see puffins. It was always a favorite when I was a kid. Are you in a place where you can talk?”

Taking the file folder with the photo, Neal left the office. “Yeah, I got what I needed.”

“And what was that?”

“Evidence Henry was in Vegas last month.”

“Good work. What was he doing? Do you think he’ll be back?”

“Here at the Venetian he was making a nuisance of himself. But it’s a start. He loves Italian food, and I’m going to check out the restaurants around the Grand Canal to see if the staff remember him.”

Satisfied that Neal had a safe and sane plan, Tricia was willing to let him get back to work.

Popping the contacts back in, Neal walked to his cousin’s favorite restaurant at the Venetian and flirted with most of the staff, but wasn’t surprised that they didn’t remember Henry. He would have been too entranced with the food to waste energy being outrageous here. The hat shop on the path leading back to the casino was another matter.  

“Mr. Legend!” said the white-haired man behind the cash register in a lofty English accent. “I’m so glad to see you again. I’ve been holding the item you selected. Let me find it for you.” He stepped into a storage area and returned with a hat box. “Perfect for summer.” He opened the box and pulled out a straw fedora.

Neal took the hat and tried it on. It really was perfect. And it wasn’t Henry’s style. Either his cousin had it in mind as a gift, or had meant it to serve as a message of some kind. Neal gave the shopkeeper his Neal Legend debit card and checked the hat and box for clues. At the bottom of the box was a brochure for one of the older casinos in Vegas. It was one of the few Neal had never visited, because Henry always avoided it. There was so much to do and see here, Neal hadn’t questioned the fact that Henry never wanted to stop at the Flamingo. It looked like he was finally going to experience it.

But first he had to visit the poker tables at the Venetian, learning that Henry had a run of luck at poker a week ago. That would have been the same time he’d asked the shop to hold the fedora. He’d made enough on that trip that he could probably go weeks without a need for more cash. But he’d been using the Shawn Legend alias when he’d stayed here, and that was a name Neal couldn’t give to the FBI.

Soon it was 9pm, and Neal called Tricia before he entered the Flamingo. He stood on a pedestrian walkway that crossed the Strip. In this part of town, the crowds of tourists meant there were few places outside of hotel rooms that offered privacy for a phone call, but at least on the walkway people were constantly moving around him, no one overhearing more than a few words. And the background noise could give him an excuse to cut the call short, if necessary.

“My working theory is that he made enough money gambling on a couple of trips out here that he’s flush with cash.”

“Was he staying at the Venetian?” Tricia asked.

“We’re not far from Lake Mead,” Neal said, avoiding a direct answer. “I want to find out if any Winslows have a boat in the vicinity.”

“I can look into that,” Tricia said. “I brought my Bureau laptop along.”

And that gave the Neal the opening he wanted to distract her from more questions about what he’d learned or planned to do next in Vegas. “Maybe you could run another search for me?”

“Sure. What have you got?” The standard Windows startup tone sounded in the background.

“This morning Noelle mentioned something. Didn’t seem like a big deal at the time, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it could be a lead. She’s dating someone, a guy she met right around the time Robert disappeared.”

“You think he’s a plant, sending Robert information about the family and what they know of Henry’s location?”

“I hope not, but the timing is suspicious. And who better than Robert to know what kind of man would appeal to his ex-wife, right?”

“It wouldn’t hurt to run a background check. What’s his name?”

“Joseph Burke,” Neal said.

There was a pause. “That’s a coincidence. _Joe_ is the name of Peter’s brother.”

“Yeah, they met at Peter’s family cabin. That’s where we went when my flashbacks got really bad. I talked to the guy a couple of times but with everything else going on I wasn’t able to get a good feel for him.”

“You’re asking me to run a search on Peter’s brother? Peter, our boss?”

“You agreed the timing is suspicious. It would be negligent not to check it out.” Neal went for the kill. “It doesn’t have to go into the file, right? Not unless you actually find something relevant. Joe doesn’t have to be associated to the case if he’s innocent of any wrongdoing.”

Tricia picked up where he was going. “And next you’re going to tell me that’s why you’re being cagey about who you’re talking to in Vegas. Because most of them won’t pan out as leads, and you don’t want to put innocent people in the FBI files, especially in a file for a case as serious as this one. You know, I’m not the bad guy here, Neal. You don’t have to con me into doing what you want or into leaving you alone. We’re on the same side.”

“Sometimes we come at things from opposite directions, though.”

“That’s where we can learn from each other. I’ll do the search on Joe Burke. If anything looks suspicious, I’ll give you a call. Your next two check ins are with Peter, and then I’ll pick things up in the morning.”

With the call ended, Neal went into the Flamingo and sought out the poker games. A wall featuring photos of champions caught his eye. There were pictures of Robert, and one of Robert with a teenaged Henry, both grinning. He stared at that photo, having never seen this father and son look so happy together.

A woman in a casino uniform approached and said, “He claimed the kid was 18, and as his father they took his word. Looks more like 15 to me, though.” Her voice was husky from cigarettes and whiskey. “This room is for players.”

Neal took the hint and sat at a table. Although dressed like Henry, he didn’t try to act or sound like him here. She shuffled the cards and dealt. Neal picked up his cards, saying, “The kid looks familiar. I’ve played with Henry before, but I didn’t know his dad gambled.”

“I wasn’t here when that photo was taken, but I’ve heard about it. Dad and his kid took first and second place in the tournament, and it was a nail-biter. Could have gone either way, but the dad got a better hand in the end. They say he laughed and called it a tie, and then insisted the kid join him in the photo of the winner. Robert comes here every summer, with his brothers. The kid joined them last summer. Not a kid anymore though.”

Neal made his bet as she paused. “Are there pictures of the brothers, too?”

The dealer – her nametag said she was Tammy – took Neal’s chips and dealt again. “No. They don’t play worth a damn. Only Robert and his son have any talent for the game.”

Neal asked more about the tournament, and was careful not to win big. He didn’t want to be memorable at the Flamingo, didn’t want anyone to tell Robert someone had been asking about him. He left a decent tip and quit the game after about an hour, heading back to his hotel. He really did want quiet and privacy for this call.

When Noelle answered, he was pleased but surprised. “I thought you said there’s almost no cell coverage in Paradise.”

“That’s part of the appeal,” she said. “But I stayed in Seattle. Mom and Dad and Paige went to Mount Rainier with Angela.”

“You haven’t told them about Joe yet?”

“No. We’re here for Angela. I don’t want to steal the limelight from her.”

Neal thought that over and said, “And you’re looking for Robert, aren’t you?”

“Henry, actually, but I suspect finding either one will lead me to the other. When I called Graham and demanded more information, he told me Henry was watching us from the water, and I found the boat he was using, or rather, the slip where the boat was docked. People at the marina recognized his picture, but the boat was long gone.”

“What can you tell me about Robert’s annual trip to Las Vegas?”

There was a pause, and she responded with an unexpected smile in her voice. “I’d forgotten those. He and his brothers would go for a week in late July. He took Henry a couple of times, before the divorce. You know, those trips were some of the few occasions they were in perfect accord after Henry reached his teens. Robert taught him to play poker, and when they were absorbed in a game they could ignore everything else. I’d planned to ask for a divorce when they returned from that last vacation, but they were so happy when they got back home I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I waited a few weeks, hoping they’d find a way keep that camaraderie, but it only lasted a day after they got back home.”

“Did he always stay at the same hotel?”

“Mmm. I think so. The Flamingo? Yes, he had a superstition about that. He always stayed on the same floor. I don’t remember the number, but I suppose the FBI can find out.”

“I think we can. How did Robert spend his winnings?”

“Oh, he never won much. Maybe enough to pay for the trip. Do you think Robert will go back to Vegas?” When Neal didn’t answer, Noelle asked, “Is he there now?”

“No,” Neal assured her. “I haven’t seen any sign of him, but I think he’s been here at least once since he disappeared.”

“And that means Henry’s been there, too.”

“Yeah, he’s been here.” Neal wrapped up the conversation with his aunt, and afterwards thought about Henry. He’d never mentioned who’d taught him to play poker. It was odd to think of Henry and his father actually getting along, and yet Neal knew that they hadn’t always been fighting. There had to have been good memories to make Henry believe until recently that they could be reconciled, that his dad meant well and loved him.

A glance at the clock showed Neal it was nearly 11:00. Neal Legend had a performance scheduled at midnight. Theo Guy had come through with a friend who had trouble getting singers for Sunday and Monday, which were slow days. Neal took a cab, and was at the club within minutes. He dressed for the performance and warmed up onstage, where his rendition of “Here Without You” by 3 Doors Down soothed the nerves of the club manager who was taking a chance on a singer he’d never heard before. Satisfied that Theo hadn’t led him astray, the manager let Neal return to the dressing room. Neal called Peter at 11:40, a little early for their check in, but he was supposed to be singing at midnight.

“Neal?” There was a sound of creaking bed springs. It was almost 3am in New York.

“Yeah. Listen, I stumbled across a lead on Robert.”

“You’re not supposed to be looking for Robert,” Peter admonished.

“I wasn’t. It came as a surprise, but I found a picture of Robert and then confirmed with Noelle that he comes to Vegas every summer with his brothers. They always stay at the Flamingo, always on the same floor that Robert thinks is lucky. He plays poker when he’s here, and a dealer at the hotel remembers him. She said he visited in the spring this year, sometime in March, and was alone this time.”

“You think he’s financing his disappearance with gambling?” Peter was walking, probably heading downstairs to talk without disturbing Elizabeth.

“No, I think when he decided to disappear he came here to access money he’s been stashing for years, and gambled for fun as long as he was in town. Peter, my source tells me Robert is good at poker. Championship good. He times his visits around an annual tournament, and wins big. Twice he won the whole thing. There’s a cash prize of $50,000 for the champion, but he told Noelle he barely won enough to pay for the trip. He’s been making a lot of money and stashing it someplace she didn’t find out about.”

“Not even in the divorce settlements. I’ll bet Noelle had a sharp attorney for that. Robert must have had a clever hiding place for his winnings. This is good, Neal. If we can find when Robert was there, that could lead us to an alias he’s using. And maybe we can freeze his account if there’s any money left in it. I need to talk to Jones.”

“Go ahead. That’s all I’ve got for you. Now I’m focusing on Henry again.”

Peter was so eager to follow the lead on Robert that he didn’t mind cutting the call short. Neal was on stage at the appointed time, and back to his hotel room by 3am for the next check in. It didn’t take much effort to convince Peter that Neal was tired and hadn’t learned anything new in the last three hours. He even convinced Peter that a 6am call from Vegas was cruel and unusual punishment, and that he could actually get six hours of sleep and wait until 9am to call Tricia. And of course there’d be nothing to report in that call except that he’d caught up on some sleep.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter spoke with Jones and they agreed to meet in the office by 7am. Fortunately Graham Winslow was a morning person and didn’t mind the early call to ask him about Robert’s trips to Vegas. Graham didn’t mind rousting his other two sons to get to the bottom of it, demanding to know why they hadn’t mentioned this source of income when Robert first disappeared.

The brothers admitted to knowing Robert won big, but insisted he didn’t keep the money. He told them he gave it to charity, and they mentioned a plaque hanging in his office that was an acknowledgement of his generosity. Since Robert didn’t go on any spending sprees after these trips, they had no reason to believe he’d kept the money. But it didn’t take long for Jones to discover the charity was a sham, and the account Robert had created in its name was slowly being drained of funds. They considered freezing the account, but opted to monitor it instead to help them track Robert’s movements.

Peter had been surprised not to see or hear from Hughes. They’d sent him updates over the weekend, and the sighting of Robert was big news. But shortly after the morning briefing, Jones and Travis conferred and announced they had uncovered a glitch that was preventing email from flowing outside the office, the result of a recent update to their email server. For the last 30 hours they’d been unable to send or receive messages to anyone with a remote connection. With the new settings that Jones provided, Peter received a message Hughes had sent Sunday morning, explaining that he’d been called to DC for an emergency meeting.

Several updates Peter had sent to his boss finally left his outbox, and within minutes Hughes called. Peter had Jones close the door to his office and put Hughes on speaker. “How’s the meeting?” Peter asked, curious about the emergency that had called Hughes away.

“Depressing,” said Hughes. “The news broke this weekend about unrest in Eastern Europe. There are fears of continued violence, and that sympathizers in the U.S. could mimic their actions here. We’re going over contingency plans, and that could include temporarily reassigning agents from divisions like yours to support anti-terrorism efforts.”

“Is that likely?” Peter asked, knowing how much El would hate having him assigned to working violent crimes.

“Too soon to say. I don’t have much time, but I want to make sure I’m clear about the progress on the Robert Winslow case. In the course of 24 hours, he was found and escaped in Seattle, and you found the money he’s using to fund his disappearing act in an account in Las Vegas. Is that correct?”

“That’s right,” Peter confirmed.

“And you mentioned Caffrey. Is he the one who found Robert, or did he find the money?”

“Both,” Peter said.

“Am I to understand that after months of no leads, Robert and his money were found over a weekend by a _consultant_ who isn’t supposed to be working on this case? How is that even possible?”

“It’s not that surprising, in my opinion,” Jones said. Then he looked at Peter and shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t mean to disparage the Bureau processes, but the fact is that for all their enmity, it became clear early in the case Robert and his son have a lot in common. Similar intelligence and skills, among other things. Henry’s out of our reach, but the person we know who thinks the most like him is Caffrey. Once we let Caffrey try to sniff out Henry Winslow, I’m not surprised he uncovered leads on Robert, too.”

“Agent Jones, you’re not upset at Caffrey stepping on your case?” Hughes asked.

“Not at all. I said a week ago that we should make more use of him, since we weren’t getting anywhere.”

“Burke, how much of this was Caffrey’s doing, and how much was you coaching him?”

Peter was surprised by the question. They were a team, weren’t they? “He’s being coached by Agent Wiese on this one. He asked for her advice.”

“Isn’t she…” Hughes was probably commenting on the fact that Tricia was on vacation, but the line crackled and they lost the connection. They tried calling him back, but were sent to voicemail.

“Are we going to be in trouble over Caffrey’s involvement in the case?” Jones asked.

Peter shook his head. “Not if we catch Robert.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After checking in with Tricia at 9am, Neal called Mozzie to talk about the Urban Legend conspiracy. “I don’t have a laptop with me to check the Urban Legend site,” Neal said. In 2004, browsing sites on a phone was next to impossible. “Were you able to use the recordings I got from Miranda?”

“I’m posting them at intervals to drive up traffic. It’s working, but I need other types of content. When are you going to do something newsworthy?”

“Tonight, with your help. Last night Neal Legend performed here in Vegas. He covered current songs by 3 Doors Down, a few new songs by Miranda Garza that haven’t been recorded yet, and ended with a spooky version of ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ by Nirvana.”

“A song purportedly about cancer, which is thought to be Neal Legend’s cause of death. Why didn’t you give me advance notice? I could have gotten reporters there.”

“Because Shawn Legend is performing at the same venue tonight, with a very similar set list, including ‘Let Me Be Myself.’ A conspiracy theorist might wonder if Neal Legend and Shawn Legend are the same person and Shawn is lamenting his loss of identity.”

“Or if Neal truly did die and Shawn Legend is trying to play both roles now. For publicity? Or out of regret that his brother died before they achieved the success Shawn promised they’d have if Neal stayed in the duo rather than going to college?” The sound of typing indicated Mozzie was already making updates. “I can guarantee reporters and curious music fans will seek out Shawn’s performance tonight. Does this mean you found Henry?”

“Briefly, but he won’t be performing. Tonight I’m playing the role of Shawn.”

“Neal impersonates Shawn in an attempt to convince people that Shawn is impersonating Neal. Very existential. Any chance of getting Grace there? A public argument between Grace and Shawn would add a certain verisimilitude to the web I’m spinning.”

Neal hadn’t had as much time as he’d wanted to talk to Angela, and he didn’t know if her absence at breakfast before he left Seattle was a bad sign. Getting her to Vegas could give him a second chance to make sure she was going to support his plan. “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do. And Mozz?”

“Spinning conspiracy theories takes time, you know. It’s like an intricate tapestry, which must be planned with a level of care commensurate with the elaborateness of the desired result. I need to start weaving in this new element.”

“I know, but be careful with the timing. I don’t want Henry to have enough advance notice to fly out here. Assume he’s somewhere along the coast of Washington or Oregon.”

Mozzie’s sigh was clearly meant to indicate how extremely put upon he felt under this new restriction. “Isn’t the point to draw him into this plan of ours?”

“Soon, Mozz. But first I want to make it clear how successful this plan can be. If we get the results we want tonight, he’ll be more likely to follow my lead.”

After giving Mozzie the time and location of Shawn Legend’s upcoming performance, Neal ended the call. He’d ordered breakfast from room service, and had almost three hours free before he needed to call Tricia again.

He didn’t expect to find any additional information about Henry’s location or accomplice, not until he talked to Angela, who was still out of cell phone range on Mount Rainier. It was time to hit the casinos as Nick Halden, his alias known for gambling. Any money he won would go into the Neal Legend account he’d opened in Austin. If all went according to plan, that account would fund at least part of his tuition at Columbia. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Las Vegas is such a picturesque location that I added several pins for this chapter to the Pinterest board. There’s a combination of real locations and imaginary people and scenarios in this chapter. There is currently a hat shop called Chapel’s in the Venetian; I’m not sure when it opened, but they do carry fedoras. I don’t know who hires the gondoliers or what their criteria are, nor do I know of an annual poker tournament at the Flamingo. 
> 
> Happy Women’s Day! It was a fortunate coincidence that the chapter I’m posting today opens with Neal interacting with his grandmother and aunt. I’d also like to acknowledge a non-fictional woman: Silbrith, who as beta reader and fellow plot bunny chaser has made the writing process a grand adventure.


	12. Trading Places

**Las Vegas. Monday afternoon. June 28, 2004.**

After a few hours of gambling at the Bellagio casino followed by another check in with Tricia at noon, Neal called his cousin Angela. She should be back at her apartment by now, having dropped the family at SeaTac airport an hour ago. Neal explained his plan to perform as Shawn Legend tonight, and how he envisioned Grace Legend contributing to the act if she could make it to Las Vegas. She agreed to join him if she could arrange a flight.

“Speaking of which, are you traveling to performances under your own name?” Neal asked. He assumed Henry had arranged a Grace Legend ID so that Angela’s travels couldn’t be tied to her alter ego.

“Not usually. Years ago my parents bought a small plane that we keep here. We’d all go flying when they visited, and I have my pilot’s license. I’ve been using the Cessna, listing Mom’s name in the flight plans. The trickiest part about today is that I haven’t flown to Nevada before. I’ll need to find a small airfield in your vicinity and file a flight plan. It should be easy enough, but I’ll let you know if I run into any problems.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate this.” Things were looking up. If Neal got Angela on his crew, Henry would have to adapt to their plans for the Masterson job. The biggest challenge facing Neal right now was the FBI. He needed this last day in Vegas for gambling and for one more performance to support the Urban Legend conspiracy theories Mozzie was spinning. He couldn’t tell the FBI about that, and Tricia was going to start questioning what he was up to if he didn’t have any news about his search for Henry when he called. That was going to be a touchy subject now that it was Monday, and he’d pressed for the FBI to treat today as a work day instead of a vacation day.

He had nearly three hours until the next check in, and hoped something would come to him. Meanwhile, he prepared for his performance as Shawn.

Interchanging Shawn and Neal Legend at performances had become a common practice in 1999, when Henry enrolled in graduate school at DePaul. Usually they could perform together and tag team the heavy class load, but sometimes one would have to travel alone for performances while the other attended classes, especially during exams.

It had been easier then. Urban Legend was small-time and happy that way. They wanted to have fun and make enough money to get by, and preferred to stay out of the limelight so that they wouldn’t get the attention of Winston-Winslow when Robert was looking for Henry. Now they were trying to get press, and that meant reporters bringing high quality cameras to performances. Getting away with claiming to be both Neal and Shawn would be harder as photos were taken of both of them and then compared. To get away with this con, he needed help.

Neal wandered to the Caesar’s Palace wedding services office, and spoke to a helpful assistant about makeup artists. He gathered contact info for the recommended artists and made an appointment with one who specialized in makeovers that transformed a person into a celebrity likeness. Bess arrived at his room before 2pm with a cart of supplies and a seen-it-all demeanor. She studied the photos Neal had of Henry and then got to work.

“He’s a nice-looking man,” Bess said as Neal put in the hazel contacts. “Can’t say I recognize him, though I can’t keep up with all the new celebrities these days. It won’t be too hard to make you look like him. You’ve both got the same shape face. I won’t have to touch the ears. A little shadowing on the nose and cheekbones.” She pulled out makeup and brushes and got to work.

Neal remembered the first time he’d been mistaken for Henry. Neal had picked up Henry’s guitar and was playing it in Miranda’s studio while a singer was meeting with Miranda about one of her songs. Henry had played the guitar in a recording session with them, but had gone to the kitchen in search of a snack. The singer hadn’t paid much attention to the two young men singing backup vocals, and assumed Neal was Henry. Amused, Neal had imitated his cousin’s voice and demeanor. Henry caught on as soon as he returned and imitated Neal. It had been easy enough to fool someone who’d met them only once, and they enjoyed the joke enough to keep practicing.

There was a family resemblance to work with as a basis, and the fact was that in music performances they were far enough away from the audience to pull off a switch based on clothing, voice, and attitude. Even up close, most people didn’t remember their casual acquaintances in great detail. Repeating the catch phrases, gestures and facial expressions someone was known for could convince most people to see what they expected to see. If someone wasn’t fooled, Neal or Henry could simply laugh and claim it was all a joke.

When Peter had first met Henry and learned he was related to Neal, he’d studied the cousins carefully to see the similarities between them. That was the level of observation and scrutiny they could expect now that they were starting a rumor that Neal had died and Shawn Legend was playing two roles. People were going to get close, take high quality photographs, and pore over the images. There wouldn’t be a lot of press at this event, but Neal thought it would be best to look more like Henry. He needed to fool not only the audience, but also the club manager and backup musicians.

Neal paid close attention to how Bess transformed him. Then he washed off the makeup, and under her watchful eye reapplied it himself to make sure he could achieve the same results. He got what he needed, but it wasn’t cheap. By the time he paid Bess for her time and for the makeup he’d need to pull off this impersonation again, he’d spent a large chunk of his gambling winnings.

“Are you sure you won’t let me lighten your hair?” Bess asked as she packed up her supplies. “You have it styled right, but the color is the one obvious difference left between you.”

“I’m sure,” Neal insisted. He’d heard enough horror stories about dye jobs gone wrong that he didn’t want to risk what he considered his best feature. “Those are daylight photos. Indoors his hair looks much darker.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

A few minutes after 6pm in New York, Peter’s cell phone rang. He expected it to be Tricia with an update on Neal’s progress but according to the display on the phone, it was Neal calling.

“Neal, is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” The background noise sounded like he was outdoors. There were cars going by. “Sorry if I’m late calling. I got wrapped up in a lead.”

Peter frowned. “Your check in was supposed to be with Tricia this time.”

There was a pause. “Oh. Right. Too much going on, I guess. Sorry to bother you. I’ll call Tricia.”

“Not a problem. I’ve got time. What’s the latest update?” Peter did his best to sound casual, but couldn’t tamp down a pang of concern. It wasn’t like Neal to forget who to call. Jones had been in his office and stood when Peter answered the phone to give him privacy, but Peter waved him back. He scribbled a note to let Tricia know he’d take this check in.

Jones read the note, nodded, and went down to his desk to contact Tricia.

Neal cleared his throat. “The fact is, I wasn’t comfortable talking to Tricia about this one. You could say I forgot the schedule on purpose. The thing is, you know… There are certain things that are legal in this part of the country that aren’t legal everywhere else.”

Peter stood and closed the door to his office. “You mean prostitution?” He fought to keep his voice down as he took his seat behind his desk. “Neal, do not tell me you were visiting prostitutes. You’re supposed to be on a case for the Federal government. Do you have any idea how it looks when Federal employees are –”

“It’s legit,” Neal interrupted. “The thing is, Henry has some, umm, let’s call it _unique_ tastes. Some things are easier to cater to here, and, well… The industry is regulated. It’s safer, and also very discreet. My best bet to find out if Henry had recently visited one of his favorite, well, brothels, was to visit them myself disguised as him and see if anyone approached me to offer what he would have been looking for.”

Peter rested his head on the hand not holding his cell phone. “On one hand, I want to say you’d better have a lead to justify this. On the other hand, I cannot imagine explaining to Hughes how you got it. You don’t go to brothels for leads without clearing it first. The public backlash for this kind of thing…” He shook his head. “This is why you wouldn’t give Tricia an itinerary.”

“Yeah. You know, it’s funny you should mention _backlash_ , because that’s sort of related.”

Peter closed his eyes and flashed back to a conversation between Neal and Henry when Neal was trying to distract Henry from the pain of a broken arm. He’d mentioned a story Henry had once told him about a dominatrix. Henry had claimed the story was a lie, and Peter desperately wanted to believe that. “How about we skip the specifics and give me the bottom line. Did you get a lead or not?” There wasn’t an answer. “Neal?”

“S-sorry.” The response was muffled. The background noise had disappeared, as if he had muted the phone.

“Are you laughing?”

The background noise returned, along with laughter. “I thought I could…” More laughter. “I thought I’d get through it without laughing, but then you threw in _bottom line,_ and it added a whole new dimension to the story I’d been spinning from your _backlash_ comment. There’s a hidden kinky side to you, isn’t there?”

Peter set aside his outrage to think things through. “What are you doing, Henry?”

“What gave me away?” asked Neal’s cousin.

“I think you know. I think you wanted me to guess it was you.”

“Yeah, I knew you would remember. I can fake Neal’s voice but not his laugh.”

“Right.” Peter paused. “You picked a topic that would distract me from guessing at first, knowing eventually you’d start laughing and give yourself away. How’d you know about the check ins?”

“I’ve still got resources, and I try to make sure Neal is OK when I get the chance. You shouldn’t have sent him to Vegas, Peter. I wasn’t ready for him to find those leads, yet. Those were a contingency, in case things went wrong.”

“In case you died?” Peter asked. “Have you been leaving clues to help bring him peace if Robert kills you?” Jones ran upstairs with a note saying Neal had already called for his check in with Tricia. Peter nodded and handed a note asking him to trace the call. Then he held up a hand for Jones to stay and deliberately said, “Why don’t you let us help you, Henry?”

Jones’ eyes widened. Peter nodded and the agent left to start the trace.

“Don’t worry about me. Just keep Neal out of the line of fire.”

“That’s an ominous turn of phrase. Do you really think Robert wants to hurt you, and not just scare you off his trail?”

Henry sighed. “For a long time, Neal was jealous of my relationship with my parents. I won the jackpot when it came to my mom, and at least I had the normal two-parent thing going on until high school. My dad seemed annoying, even scary sometimes, but I could always explain everything away as tough love. He wanted the best for me, which meant he cared. I told myself we just disagreed on what I needed, or what I should become. I wasn’t the only one fooled by him, you know. Mom fell for it, too.”

“I know it’s been tough,” Peter said. “Don’t make it tougher on the people who care about you.”

“Easier said than done, I think. The tables have turned now. These days I’m jealous of Neal.”

Peter thought about Neal’s childhood, and was surprised at Henry’s comment. “You’re saying you wish your dad was nowhere to be found? Isn’t that what you’ve got now?”

“I’m not talking about James. Listen, I’ve got to go, and this time I really am ditching the phone. Remember your promise, Peter.”

The call ended as Jones returned. Seeing Peter was off the phone Jones said, “He was calling from the phone Neal swapped with him. It had been turned off, which is why we couldn’t track it before. Turns out he’s north of Seattle. The call was placed from Everett, near some of Boeing’s facilities.”

“The airplane manufacturer? I thought he was sticking to boats.”

“It isn’t far from the water, and I assume he has to be flying sometimes, especially if he wants to cross the country. Maybe he finds it easier to bypass security in a smaller airport. We know Winston-Winslow has at least one corporate jet. Maybe some of the family have planes, or he has a pilot as an accomplice.”

“Look into that. Let me know what you find, and tell Tricia, too.” When he was alone in his office, Peter thought over the call from Henry. Why had he impersonated Neal instead of simply being upfront about his point? The trick with Henry was that he had a masters in psychology and liked to relay information by planting suggestions in your head instead of being straightforward. His method ensured you didn’t forget his message, once you caught on to the ideas he’d planted.

Starting from the beginning, then, Peter outlined what Henry had said and done on the call. First, he’d impersonated Neal knowing Peter would find that disconcerting. Second, he’d given the impression that Neal was doing things Peter and the FBI wouldn’t approve of. Third, he’d revealed that he knew Neal was in Las Vegas, that he was checking in with Peter or Tricia regularly, and that Neal was impersonating Henry to get leads. Last, he’d talked about fathers and a promise.

Sorting through those leads, Peter decided that Henry wanted him to make Neal stop the impersonations. He wanted Peter to be aware of what he’d been able to learn about Neal’s activities, so Peter would worry that Robert could uncover the same information. That might lead Peter to keep Neal in New York. Maybe Henry was concerned that Neal was too close to finding him?

Toward the end Henry was implying he was jealous that Neal had Peter as a father figure, but Peter had to shake his head at that. He wasn’t at all sure Neal would agree Henry had anything to be jealous of.

The promise was one Henry had requested in March, after Robert’s role in the attempts on Neal’s life had been uncovered and they’d seen the first signs that Henry was overwhelmed to learn what his father was capable of. He’d asked Peter to watch out for Neal, bestowing on him a role Henry had long considered his own. Reminding Peter of this promise could indicate that he expected the situation with Robert to escalate soon.

Peter eyed his phone, tempted to call Neal and order him back to New York, as Henry wanted. He resisted, knowing Neal would consider it a breach of trust. Anyway, Neal would be on a return flight within nine hours. Instead Peter called Tricia for reassurance that Neal’s last check in hadn’t given her any reason for concern.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At 6pm, Neal left the poker game he’d been playing as Nick Halden in the Paris resort casino and called Tricia. In his last call he’d twisted his session with Bess into a version of the truth that implied Henry was using disguises to stay hidden when he traveled. This time he simply planned to report that his latest leads hadn’t panned out.

He was surprised to hear about Henry’s call to Peter, and his interpretation of the call matched Peter’s take on it. “Yeah, if I’m getting close and he doesn’t want to be found, he’d want to make Peter think I’m in danger.”

“Are you being cautious, Neal?”

Neal stepped into the resort’s avenue of stores and restaurants. He ducked into one of the quieter shops, specializing in designer suits. “You’ve been to Vegas, right?”

“Not since my bachelorette party.”

Neal smiled. “I’d like to hear about that.”

“Stick to the point, Caffrey.” Her gruff tone made Neal suspect she didn’t want to talk about the party. He’d always suspected she had a wild side.

“It must be a fantastic story. I’ll get it out of you when we’re both back in the office.” He checked a price tag. Nope, he couldn’t afford $4000 suits on an FBI consultant’s salary. Then he looked at the sales clerk and wondered if she’d be inclined to negotiate. “Depending on how drunk you were, you probably remember the crowds. As long as you’re in one of the resorts or moving between resorts, you’re never alone. There’s essentially no privacy unless you’re in your room. A tourist industry like this goes to great lengths to make sure the visitors feel safe.”

“And will you limit your movements to the resorts?”

“From now until I leave for the airport, yes, I promise I’m staying in the resorts.”

“Finally, a straight answer. I’m going to hold you to that promise. Before you go, Peter had a question for you. He said you’d mentioned a concern Henry was using drugs. Did you get any further information on that topic?”

Neal gave up on the idea of conning – that is, flirting – down the price of the suit. It was hard to feel flirtatious while discussing this topic. He moved on to the next store, this one selling upscale luggage. “Not much. I didn’t see any indication he was using when we spoke in Seattle, but we didn’t have much time and it was dark.” He added it to his list of things to ask Angela about.

After the call, Neal took a taxi to the Mandalay Bay, where he spent a little more time gambling before heading to the Irish pub where he’d arranged to meet Angela for a light dinner. The live Celtic music was a pleasant change. The Urban Legend con was going to require immersing himself in pop and rock, even though he enjoyed a broader range of music. He’d been exploring Sinatra and the songs associated with the Rat Pack, but those brought back sad memories for June and he had stopped playing those in her music room. Would she like Celtic tunes?

Angela’s arrival interrupted his thoughts, and her reaction was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Neal,” she’d said as she slid onto a seat across from him, only to freeze. “Henry?” She shook her head. “No, that can’t be right. How…” She reached out to touch his face. “Makeup?”

“You know what they say: you can buy anything in Vegas if you know where to look. And that includes Henry’s face.”

“It’s incredible.” She paused at the prompting of a waitress and selected a sandwich.

While she still seemed rattled, Neal said, “We didn’t get much chance to talk in Seattle. I wanted to ask if you know who might be Henry’s accomplice.”

“His… I don’t think I follow. For Urban Legend it’s the three of us, right? He wanted to keep it small to reduce the risk of the secret getting out.”

“No, I mean for staying in hiding and hunting for Robert.” Neal leaned forward to press his point. “He isn’t using his credit cards or accessing his bank account. He’s moving around without using commercial airlines, or he’s using an alias I don’t know about. He’s keeping up with what’s going on in our lives and with Urban Legend without accessing his known email accounts. All the while he’s managed to keep the FBI and Win-Win from catching a trace of him. He can’t do that without help.”

“And you thought I’d know? Those aren’t my areas of expertise.”

“Not your area of skills, but maybe your area of the country? There’s a big computer geek population in Seattle. Did you point him to someone?”

“No. I dated someone who might have those skills, a couple of years back, but then Henry accessed the Win-Win databases and found some stuff.” She blushed. “I broke things off with him and haven’t talked to him since.”

Neal supposed Henry could be blackmailing this ex-boyfriend for help, but didn’t see that working for long. Henry needed his accomplice to be someone he could trust. As he ruled out the other possibilities, Neal’s crazy idea seemed more and more likely. “What can you tell me about his plans for Masterson?” Neal asked.

Most of what Angela told him, Neal had already guessed. After all, Henry had been thinking and talking about ways to expose Masterson’s business practices for several years. Then, as the waitress delivered their food, Angela asked about the alternate plan Neal had in mind.

He considered holding back. It was easy to fall into the trap of feeling like he knew Angela because he’d been hearing stories about her since he was 18. But in the end he had to trust Henry and his decision to bring Angela into Urban Legend. She needed to know his plan in order to be convinced to support it, and then she could work on convincing Henry the next time she saw him.

By the time they were done eating, Angela appeared to be on Neal’s side. She agreed that his plan should work, and it had the advantage of being wrapped up before the school year started. “And you’re sure I can keep Grace a secret from the rest of the family?”

The con artist in Neal wanted to tell her there was nothing to worry about, but he couldn’t treat her like that. “As sure as I can be. The risk is about the same as with Henry’s version of the plan. His involves a longer time span, drawing out the time we’re getting attention. Mine is faster but brings in more people you’ll have to trust to keep our secrets.”

She nodded. “I’ll talk to Henry about it, next time I see him.” As they left the restaurant and meandered toward the resort exit she asked, “Did he tell you how he got the name _Shawn_?”

“From the Hunters, when they claimed he was part of their family,” Neal said automatically. But he saw the flaw immediately. Henry had told Shannon his name was _Shawn_ before he took the near fatal bungee jump. “No, it had to be earlier than that.”

“It was Thanksgiving the year he was 15. Dad couldn’t get away from the Air Force base, but Mom and I went to D.C. for the holiday. For a long time Henry and I had been friends, playing together whenever we met, but that visit he claimed the age difference was suddenly an issue. He said hanging around with me didn’t have much appeal, and I was pretending not to be hurt. Then I realized he was avoiding everyone.”

“That would have been when he learned his parents had filed for divorce.”

“Exactly. I found him in one of the bedrooms, hiding behind the bed. He claimed the reason he was upset was a stupid assignment he had for school. Each student had to list adjectives describing themselves, starting with the letters of their names. Henry Allen Winslow. He needed adjectives starting with H, with A and with W. He said he hated his name. His initials were HAW, which sounded like a laugh. He said he felt like a joke.”

Neal could picture it, and wished he could have been there to cheer up his cousins. Being between them in age, he could have bridged the gap. “Sounds just like him, to send you down that path instead of admitting what was really wrong.”

“True, but I like to think I helped at least a little. I looked at the HAW on the top of the sheet of paper, grabbed a pen and added an S at the start and an N at the end. Then we turned it into an acronym for his secret identity. Super Hero AWesome Nobody.”

“Nobody?”

“It was as close as we could get to _Anonymous_ with an N. The point was that it was our secret. Everyone else could see an ordinary boy who seemed like no one special, even laugh at him if they wanted, but we knew the truth. I think sometimes after that when he was scared or lonely, he told himself he was SHAWN and felt better.”

Neal put an arm around Angela and squeezed her tight for a moment as they walked. “He was lucky to have you.”

“Yeah. And lucky to have you, too. I think by the time he left for college he needed more than an acronym. He needed to save someone, to prove he really was a hero. You gave him that.” She stopped walking as Neal shrugged. “I mean it. You gave him a purpose long enough for him to find his own way. And now he’s struggling to learn the other side, how to let someone else rescue him. I think it’s… It’s right that you’re playing Shawn tonight. Henry needs saving, and I want to help you be the hero this time.”

“What about you?” Neal asked. He held the door open and they joined the line for a taxi. “Why aren’t you the hero?”

“The hero gets too much attention, and I’m trying to keep a low profile. I’m the sidekick no one notices until you need someone to save your ass. Then I’ll blow your mind.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Shawn Legend gave a great performance that night. The audience in the club cheered and a handful of reporters on the entertainment beat stuck around for the entire event rather than staying only long enough to get a few photos.

Near the end of one of the final songs, the lights dimmed and the speakers went silent. Neal’s voice carried into the crowd even after his microphone died, but he stopped at the end of a line and gave them a grin eerily like Henry’s. “Sorry, folks. Looks like we have a technical difficulty. We’ll…” He trailed off as there was the annoying screech of feedback. Then the musicians behind him started playing a different song. “What the hell?” Even though the speakers were online again, his mike still wasn’t functioning. He was drowned out by a female voice, and Angela swept on stage as Grace Legend to sing “Are You Happy Now?”

Grace killed it, delivering a rousing performance filled with anger and sarcasm. And she’d changed her look, going for a goth aesthetic that made her look more edgy and dangerous than usual. The dramatic makeup was a smart choice. No matter how good the photos, they would show only a mask rather than her real face.

In a classic Vegas move, she disappeared in a puff of smoke. Neal – or Shawn as far as the audience knew – returned to the stage with a working microphone and turned to the musicians in disgust. “Really? You, too? You know, I’ve had enough of this. I don’t need Grace, and I don’t need you, either. Get out of here.”

He sang “Let Me Be Myself” to his own accompaniment on guitar, and then announced the performance was over and left the stage. The audience was buzzing with questions and comments, and the reporters who had stayed to the end were grinning from ear-to-ear as they considered the stories they were about to file.

Backstage, Neal grabbed his suitcases and strode out of the club, and out of the resort, intent on catching a taxi to the airport. He kept the Henry makeup and dodged reporters, making terse remarks in response to their questions. He’d have to remove the makeup and contacts in the airport before hitting the security line so that he’d match his own ID.

Angela took a back route outside, to a dark area where performers would sneak out for breaks. She looked around as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. “What did you think?” she asked.

Henry stepped out of the shadows. “Not bad. I’m glad you brought me with you. What did you learn about Neal’s plans?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week’s chapter takes us back to New York. And while you wait, check out Silbrith’s “The Queen’s Jewels” which she started posting last week. It’s another story in this AU, set in November 2004, with a jewel heist, angst, and a fluffy Thanksgiving to wrap things up.


	13. Family Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to acknowledge the many guesses and comments about the question of Henry’s accomplice. Your interest and close reading of the story are immensely flattering. As a result, I expanded a portion of this chapter to provide more detail. Enjoy!

**Brooklyn, Burke residence.  Tuesday morning.  June 29, 2004.**

At breakfast Peter and Elizabeth were practically tiptoeing around each other, trying to keep the peace after a difficult evening.  El had been dismayed at the news that Peter might be called off of White Collar cases temporarily to work anti-terrorism.  Peter almost wished he hadn’t told her, but thought having time to prepare would be best.  He also suggested that she might want to make plans to visit her sister or parents.  That hadn’t gone over well.  Taking off now could kill her new business before it even got off the ground.  They’d settled their differences before going to bed, each admitting that they had overreacted out of their fears for the other.  Now they were cautious, not wanting to touch off another argument.

When Peter’s phone rang, there was a moment when their eyes met, wondering if it was the FBI calling to announce an emergency.  El, who had been showing Peter her ideas for the Burke Premiere Events website, clicked a link to a New York City news site, to see if anything was being reported.

Peter drew a breath of relief when he pulled out his phone and saw the name of the caller.  “It’s Joe,” he said.  Peter and his brother were both morning people, and when they called each other it was usually before heading to work.  “What’s up?” he asked.

“I need information about Robert Winslow,” Joe said.  “Last night I had dinner with Noelle, and she asked me about my ex-wife.  I filled in some details, but when I turned the question around, she was reluctant to tell me about her ex.  Before I meet her parents I’d like to know something about him, to make sure I don’t come across as being a lot like him. What can you tell me?”

“Some of it’s restricted information, but I can give you a basic overview.  What do you know so far?”  Peter looked at El, who seemed absorbed in what she was reading online.  He reached for the sugar to sweeten his oatmeal.  Without even looking up, El moved the sugar bowl out of reach.

“She said Robert swept her off her feet when she was a summer intern at Winston-Winslow.  His relationship with his son eventually turned rocky, and when she realized that both her marriage and her son were a means toward an end of furthering Robert’s career, she filed for divorce.  She said Robert recently took unethical and illegal steps to impress the Win-Win board, and he’s no longer with the company.”

“That’s putting it mildly.  When Robert realized that Win-Win had decided to bypass him and instead groom his son to be the next CEO, he became obsessed with proving he was the better candidate for the job.  Among other things, Robert used blackmail in an attempt to beat the FBI on the trail of Vincent Adler.  When we realized what he was doing, he tried to kill Neal and made it look like Henry was behind the attempt.”

“Henry.  That’s Noelle’s son, the one I met at the cabin last spring?”

“Yeah, that’s right.  Robert’s been on the run since March, with Win-Win and the FBI collaborating to catch him.  Henry was ordered to stay away from the case.  The fact is, he probably is the best person to find his father, and I’d be tempted to let him take the lead on that part of the investigation, but he’s too volatile.”

“What if you had his cousin Neal partner with him, to keep him in check?”

“I’ve got two reasons I can’t do that.  First is that Neal’s a consultant, not an agent.  As such, I’m not supposed to send him into extremely dangerous situations.  The second is that Neal and Henry together are twice as likely to get into trouble.  Kind of like Rosalind and Viola,” he explained.  As he spoke, he walked into the kitchen for a refill on his coffee.  Joe’s daughters were a little younger than Henry and Neal; the youngest had just finished her first year of college.

“I have to warn you, if Henry and Neal are really like my girls, you aren’t going to keep Neal from jumping into Henry’s trouble.”

“Yeah, that’s becoming obvious.”  Peter glanced out the kitchen window.  It was the kind of blue-sky day that made you think any challenge could be overcome by a positive attitude, but his own internal landscape was overcast.  He wondered if Joe’s experiences with raising two bright, headstrong children could shed some light on Neal’s recent behavior.  “Speaking of Neal, maybe you can help me.” 

“Always glad to let you take advantage of my superior experience,” Joe offered. 

“Let’s call it _more_ experience rather than _superior_.  Anyway, over the last few months, I’ve slowly gained Neal’s trust.  At least, I thought I had.  A retired agent we worked with earlier this year even said Neal had a case of hero-worship toward me.  It seemed like the kid was really opening up to me, willing to talk about nearly anything.  And then all of a sudden he’s started shutting me out.  The weird thing is, sometimes he still seems willing to talk, even seems grateful to be able to get things off his chest, but other times it’s almost like he’s a stranger.  Did your girls put you through anything like that?”

“Sounds like Viola.  With Rosalind, after she got her driver’s license and didn’t need me to drive her around anymore, I realized we’d drifted apart.  Not intentionally, but because she got so busy with all her high school activities that we barely had time to talk.  Well, I decided to arrange more family time, and that helped me keep the lines of communication open with Rosalind.  But a year later Viola didn’t just drift away.  She actively started avoiding me.  I noticed the same thing you’re describing.  Sometimes she couldn’t get away from me fast enough, and other times it was like she craved my attention.”

“What was going on?” Peter asked.

“Turns out some of her friends told her hanging out with her dad wasn’t cool and then she resented the family time I was trying to enforce.  She thought it meant I was treating her like a child.  It wasn’t that she disliked me, but that she wanted to be treated like an adult.  At least, she thought she did.  But when it was just the two of us, without any chance of her friends catching her having fun, she still liked our old family traditions.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Was it ever.  We had to reach an understanding, where I agreed to consult her on what we’d do with family time instead of imposing a plan on her, but she agreed to be her own person and tell me what _she_ wanted to do with family time, rather than what she thought her friends would approve of.”

Peter wondered if Neal was experiencing some kind of peer pressure in the office.  That could explain why he seemed normal when it was only the two of them on the phone, but acted distant when there were witnesses.  “Thanks.  I think you’ve pointed me in the right direction.”

“Any time.  That’s what your big brother is for.” 

They ended the call, and Peter continued leaning against the kitchen cabinet, sipping his coffee.  It was thanks to his relationship with Joe that Peter understood the bond between Henry and Neal.  They were always going to be there for each other.  Trying to tell Neal to stay away from the case was like telling him to pick between his brother and the job that tied him to his father figure.  He was going to try to find a way to keep both as long as he could, and that had to be stressful.  Maybe Peter could let Neal have a role in helping Henry in a way that the Bureau would still approve.

Back in the dining room, El was glued to her computer.  This time she didn’t notice when Peter added sugar to the oatmeal.  He looked over her shoulder.  “I didn’t know you were a fan of urban legends.”

“I’m not,” she said.  “Urban Legend is the name of a band.  When I checked my email I had a note from my old college roommate telling me about them, and I’ve been reading the comments in some of the music forums and on the group’s site.  It’s fascinating.”  She closed her laptop.  “It’s tempting to follow the links to hear them sing, but if I do that I’ll never get my own work done.  I need to leave in a few minutes to meet with a potential client.”  She stood up, kissed Peter and said, “Love you, hon.” 

He repeated the endearment and then cleared the table before heading to the Bureau.  Unlike El, he wasn’t fascinated by music and musicians, but her comments triggered a memory that he pondered on his drive to work.  He remembered a moment at the cabin when El asked Henry about a song he’d sung, and Neal had looked distinctly uncomfortable.  He’d meant to look it up, but then got distracted with other things.  What was the title?  He thought back to what he’d heard Neal and Henry say.  “Fix You.”  That’s what Henry had called it.  And Neal had said something about 2005.  It was unlikely that a song would be a viable clue for finding Henry now, but it couldn’t take long to look it up, right?  Peter should keep his research skills sharp.  What better way than to search for something in a field outside his area of expertise?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal arrived in the office minutes before the morning briefing, suppressing a yawn.  His flight from Las Vegas had left around 11pm Pacific time, which was 2am here in New York.  The flight had been bumpy, especially over the Rockies, and he hadn’t gotten as much sleep on the plane as he’d hoped.  He’d barely had time to shower and change clothes when he got home before it was time to go to work.  He could have convinced Peter to let him come in late this morning, but was glad he hadn’t thought of it.  It might have seemed like he was asking for special treatment, which would feed the perception that he was the teacher’s pet.

Armed with a cup of coffee to keep him awake, Neal sauntered into the conference room.  He recalled Angela’s story about where the name Shawn came from, and reached for his own inner superhero, someone who could stay awake during the most boring meetings, remain calm when his best friend was endangering himself, and smile when he worried that the people in the meeting room were judging him and finding him undeserving of the breaks he’d gotten.

After the briefing, Peter asked Jones and Neal to stay in the conference room to discuss the Winslow case.  He started with passing along some praise from Agent Yoshida in Seattle, who had been impressed with Neal’s work.  Neal wanted to grin widely at the unexpected assurance that he wasn’t simply getting by on favoritism, but instead gave Peter an enigmatic smile. 

Oddly, Peter frowned in response.  He’d been standing at the front of the room as he led the discussion, but now he took the seat beside Neal.  He studied Neal carefully a moment and then asked, “How much of the last couple of days did you spend impersonating your cousin?”

Neal shrugged in unconcern.  “Most of the time I wasn’t in my hotel room.  Why?”

“Because you’re still doing it, right down to his expressions and posture.  I almost called you _Henry_ a moment ago.  I need you to let go of him and be Neal Caffrey, FBI consultant.”

Reluctantly, Neal let go of the protective barrier he’d put up.

Peter nodded in approval.  “That’s better.  Now go home.”

Neal sat up straight.  “What?”

“You worked through the weekend.  Standard procedure is to give you comp time.  Especially as you couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours’ sleep last night.  Get some rest, and come back here ready to assist Jones with the Winslow case tomorrow.”

“Seriously?  What happened to not being allowed on cases where family is involved?”

“We’ve made more progress in a few days with your help than we’ve made in the last few weeks.  I can’t send you into the field on this one, not with the danger Robert poses to you, but I’d be a fool to ignore what you can contribute.  Jones and I will decide how best to involve you.  Unless you have something to contribute that you didn’t mention in your check ins, get out of here.”

“Standard procedure?” Neal repeated, wanting to be certain he wasn’t getting special treatment.

“That’s right,” Jones confirmed.  “Honestly, it was a shock to see you here this morning.”

“I should have told you not to come in today,” Peter added.

Neal nodded and headed out to catch a taxi.  He realized he should start taking the subway more, to save money for his tuition, but that thought didn’t occur to him until after he got in the cab.  The late hours and the energy he put into his Shawn Legend performance last night were getting to him, and he was grateful to be sent home.  Tomorrow he’d be on top of his game again.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Why didn’t you tell him not to come in today?” Jones asked Peter after Neal left.  “I saw his flight schedule.  He couldn’t have done much more than drop off his luggage before he came here.”

Peter gathered his notes from the briefing.  “I considered it, but I know what would have happened.  He would have used the extra day to keep looking for Henry, and still returned to the office with too little sleep.  This way he came back to New York and didn’t make any plans for the day because he expected to be working.  Because he’s tired he probably won’t feel like making plans now, and therefore will actually go home and rest.”

Jones shook his head in admiration.  “You conned Caffrey.”

“It helped that he was tired and on some level wanted what I was suggesting.  And it wasn’t exactly a high-stakes con.  He’s young and resilient enough to pull an all-nighter and still work the next day.”  In fact, Peter expected that would happen occasionally when Neal started grad school.  “But I don’t want to put my people through that needlessly.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Jones.  He started to rise, but glanced at Peter and returned to his chair.  “Is there something else?”

“Has anyone been giving Neal a hard time?  Maybe insinuating that he’s getting special treatment?”

“No, I haven’t noticed…”  Jones trailed off.

“What?”

“Travis said something, the day after the party at your house.”

“Travis?”  Peter was surprised.  He remembered interviewing their electronics expert when he joined the team.  When Peter asked what he hoped to accomplish in the FBI, Travis had mentioned a desire to help people who were victims of crime, something close to his heart because he had been bullied as a kid and identified with victims.  He wouldn’t have expected Travis to say something to make Neal defensive. 

“He mentioned something he’d overheard, asked if he should tell you about it.  I said I’d keep an eye out, see if it went anywhere.  I didn’t think there was a problem.  Did I miss something?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.  What did he hear?”  Peter glanced down at the bullpen.  Travis had an assignment in the van this afternoon, but should still be around.  Seeing him in the break room, Peter went to the glass half wall and gave him the double finger point. 

Travis jogged up the stairs with a granola bar in his hand, and took a seat in the conference room.  “Hey, I heard back from IT.  They looked into the glitch with our email server, and they think someone was trying to hack us.”  He started talking about firewalls and proxies until Peter held up a hand to stop him.

“Do they think this could be related to the meetings Hughes is attending about the unrest in Eastern Europe?” Peter asked.

“They can’t rule it out, but that doesn’t explain why the glitch was specific to our division.  Why White Collar?  None of the crimes we’re investigating now have ties to that part of the world.”

Jones looked thoughtful.  “Maybe they were trying to hit all the divisions, and they encountered a roadblock after attacking us?  Or maybe we were a test before they hit a bigger target?”

“I’m sure our IT department is looking into all of that,” Peter said.  And seeing the look of disappointment on Travis’ face he added, “But if you have time this morning you can follow up with them to be sure.  I brought you up here because Jones mentioned something you’d overheard at my house two weeks ago.  Tell me exactly what you heard.”

Travis nodded, looking grave.  He leaned back, elbows on the arms of his chair, hands steepled in front of his face.  His index fingers tapped his lips a couple of times as he thought.  “I need to preface this by saying that I have a certain, shall we say, sensitivity to this subject.  I might be inclined to cry wolf.”

“Understood,” Peter said.

“I was head and shoulders into your media cabinet that evening, rewiring the audio feed.  I didn’t see who was talking, and their voices were muffled by the cabinetry.  I didn’t hear every word and I can’t tell you who they were.  For all I know, one of them was a significant other and not an agent.”

“But you heard something,” Peter said.  “Something that made you ask Jones for a second opinion.”

“Yeah, I knew it wasn’t Jones I’d heard, because he hadn’t arrived yet.”  Travis took a deep breath.  “At first I wasn’t paying much attention to the conversations around me.  I can get lost in my own world when it comes to electronics, and your sound system was fascinating.  I had just figured out how to rewire it, when your dog stepped on me.”

Peter winced in sympathy.  Satchmo had grown to full size for a Labrador, but still thought he was a puppy.  “We’re taking him to obedience training, but he still gets excited in crowds of people.”

Travis grinned.  “We always had dogs when I was growing up.  Getting stepped on was an everyday occurrence.  Anyway, he brought me back to awareness of the world outside the media cabinet, and I heard someone saying, ‘Neal looks right at home,’ and someone else saying something that included ‘teacher’s pet’ and then the first person saying, ‘He doesn’t know,’ and the other person saying, ‘He’s an idiot if he doesn’t,’ and then… I can’t even tell you which one said this, ‘… be a reckoning if he gets the best reviews at midyear.’ And then they drifted away.”  He paused.  “I was extricating myself from the cabinet to see if I could figure out who they were, and I was almost out when someone else said, ‘That isn’t good.’  That voice I recognized.  It was Hughes.  It sounded like he’d heard, and my first thought was that if he was aware of it then I didn’t have to worry.  But I couldn’t be sure.  Maybe he hadn’t heard them and he was commenting on something else.  That’s why I ran it by Jones, to get the reaction of someone without my biases.”  He spread his hands in a gesture of uncertainty.  “I thought if we were both on the watch, we could step in if needed.  But if I heard them correctly, there won’t be an issue until midyear appraisals are done.”

Peter couldn’t help objecting, “But appraisals are private.  No one is supposed to know the ratings of their team members.”  But even as he said it, he recognized the reality didn’t match that ideal.  Agents were inquisitive and observant by nature.  You knew when your peers were being reviewed and could usually tell by their faces when they returned to their desks if the review had been good or bad.  Managers were supposed to keep the lists of ratings hidden, but how many times had he walked into a manager’s office to see him or her hastily covering up a document that was restricted?  Over the years he’d gotten glimpses of ratings, bonuses and salary data for his peers and endeavored to ignore what he’d seen.

Travis watched as those thoughts played over Peter’s face and then said, “It’s hard to keep secrets around here.  And maybe there’s nothing to worry about.  For all I know, they were simply speculating that someone else might be upset if Neal gets a great rating, and they weren’t threatening to make trouble for him themselves.”

Peter thanked Travis for his insights, and then sent both Travis and Jones back to their desks.  He remained seated at the conference table, troubled at the war within himself.  He wouldn’t give Neal or anyone else a higher rating than they deserved simply because he liked them, would he?  And he wouldn’t back down and give someone a rating lower than they deserved to keep the peace in the office, would he?  This summer would be his first round of giving appraisals since his promotion to the team lead, and he hadn’t considered that he would be at all biased.  Ratings were supposed to be objective, based on measurable goals.  But in truth there was a lot of subjectivity in the final ratings, and a lot depended on behaviors that couldn’t be easily measured.  How could he convince his team that he was fair in his reviews of them?

“Sorry.”  Travis popped back in and grabbed the granola bar he’d left on the table.

“Wait,” Peter said before the agent could leave.  “I have to ask: have you witnessed anything you’d characterize as bullying in White Collar?”

Travis shook his head.  “Not since Hitchum was fired.  Before then a few people followed his lead, but they’ve been quiet since he left.  Like I said, there might not be anything to what I heard.  But I know how much I wish someone had spoken up about what the bullies were planning when I was in high school, and that’s why I told Jones about it.”  He took a step toward the door and then stopped.  “You know, there’s another interpretation to what I heard.  The _reckoning_ they mentioned might not be against Neal; it might target you.”  Then he slipped out again.

Peter let that sink in.  Of course.  If Neal thought a friend was in trouble, he’d go to extreme measures to help.  He was doing that for Henry, and very possibly he thought he had to sacrifice his relationship with his father figure if that relationship threatened Peter or his career.  At last Neal’s recent behavior was making sense.  Now he had to figure out how this threat had come to Neal’s attention, and how to deal with it.

His next step would be to talk to Hughes, he decided, and to ask what he’d heard at the party.  Unfortunately Hughes had stayed in D.C. for more meetings.  It might be another day or two before they could have this conversation.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After a few hours’ sleep and a late lunch, Neal contacted Mozzie.  Waiting for his friend to arrive, Neal went downstairs to the music room.  The Urban Legend con required that he stay in practice, and he played some of Miranda’s new songs on the piano.  Then he tried one of the Celtic tunes he’d heard in Las Vegas, but wasn’t satisfied with his performance.  He needed to hear a new song a few times before he could play it by ear.  Mozzie’s arrival was a welcome interruption.

Normally Mozz would want to go upstairs to Neal’s apartment, away from the staff in June’s mansion, but the scent of fresh-baked cake wafted from the kitchen and he told Neal they needed to investigate.  Emil the chef submitted good-naturedly to Mozzie’s questions about the ingredients, assuring Mozz that there was no dairy.  Then he mentioned the cake was sweetened with applesauce.  “The youngest granddaughter, she doesn’t tolerate sugar too well,” he explained.  “I’ve been experimenting with alternatives.”

Emil offered slices of cake and recommended a hard apple cider to accompany it, and next thing Neal knew they were in the dining room and Mozzie was talking about the evils of refined sugar and the benefits of applesauce and honey.  He had a lot to say about honey and bees.

Neal listened until he had finished his piece of cake and then interjected, “That’s very interesting, Mozz, but the reason I called was to figure out how Henry stays connected while also staying off the grid.”

That got Mozzie’s attention.  He considered himself an expert at staying off the grid.  “What have you learned?”

“He’s living on boats.  Sailboats, yachts, vessels owned by his family.  He must need to fly sometimes, but whenever he’s in a boat he has no hotel charges, doesn’t have to show ID to travel from one marina to the next.  It’s ideal, except I’m sure he wants to get immediate updates from whoever’s helping him, and when he gets away from shore there aren’t cell towers.  How does he make sure he keeps in contact with his accomplice?” 

“Satellite,” Mozzie said.  “It’s common in larger boats like cruise ships and cargo ships, and it’s becoming available for smaller boats, too.  Eventually you’ll even have satellite telephones.  And unlike cellular communications, the government overlords aren’t harvesting satellite communications yet.  There’s still the possibility of privacy.”

Neal nodded.  Winston-Winslow liked to stay abreast of the latest technologies, especially if data or communications were involved.  It would be a safe bet that they were on the cutting edge of satellite technology, and that the Winslows would have installed that technology in their boats as part of a beta test.  “Assuming his accomplice is on land, could he have a satellite phone?  I mean, without it being obvious to everyone around him that it wasn’t a normal phone?”

Mozzie looked doubtful at first.  “The current models look like the old brick phones.  But maybe…”  He was lost in thought a moment and then said, “Maybe his accomplice could forward calls to and from a satellite phone.  I wonder if it could be cloned…  Yes.  I’d need to try a few experiments, but I think it’s safe to say that Henry’s accomplice can manage his role without lugging around a satellite phone everywhere he goes.”

That explained how communications to and from Henry weren’t being picked up by Win-Win or the FBI.  Neal wrote down the emergency phone number he’d found in the guitar case at Randy Weston’s music shop.  “This might be the number for the accomplice’s satellite phone.  Can you find out who it belongs to, without Henry or the accomplice noticing?”

“You wound me!” Mozzie complained.  “Stealth goes without question.  They’ll never know I was virtually there.”  He memorized the number and then tore up the paper on which it was written.  With a glance at Neal he said, “You already know who it is.”

“I have a suspicion,” Neal said.  “I could be way off base, and I know you don’t want to be influenced by my guess.”

“One must begin with a blank slate, uncluttered by assumptions,” Mozzie said approvingly.  “Facts, and only facts, must be our companions.”

“It’s actually…”  Neal stopped.  It would clarify his thoughts if he could talk this through with someone, but he knew it would go better if he tantalized his friend into asking for the information.  “No, never mind.  I don’t want to make this too complicated for you.  You focus on the satellite phone.”

“I don’t want you to tell me your guess of Henry’s accomplice,” Mozzie insisted.

“I wouldn’t,” Neal promised.  He paused.  “But do you want to know about the second accomplice?”

“There are two?” Mozzie asked.

Neal shrugged.  “Two cons: Urban Legend and Henry’s disappearance.  Two accomplices.  But the cons are intertwined now to the point it would be almost impossible to separate them.  It’s genius, really.  If all he’d done was disappear, I could have you confirm his accomplice, confront this person with the evidence, and turn it all over to the FBI.  We’d have Henry home in days.  The trick is that neither of us want the Bureau or our family to learn about Urban Legend.  As long as he’s disappearing into the Shawn Legend alias, there are things I can’t divulge to anyone outside that con.  In fact, I want to help him stop Masterson, so all I can do is try to look out for him and keep him from doing anything too rash.”

“The roles have reversed,” Mozzie said.

“Yeah, I may have been the more rash one in the past,” Neal acknowledged.  “But the person I feel bad for here is Angela.”

“Ah, the cousin I haven’t encountered yet.  Are you saying her role is more than that of a chanteuse?”

“She has something in common with you,” Neal said.  “She’s a pilot, certified for small aircraft.”  He let that information hang in the air, and turned his attention to the cider.

Mozzie endeavored to ignore the comment, but his brain had already absorbed the information and the wheels were turning.  “She’s the other accomplice,” he finally said.  “You said Henry needs to fly from one port to the next sometimes.  He could slip in as an unregistered passenger on her flights.”

“Yeah, and theoretically that’s in support of the Urban Legend con, so I can’t tell anyone at the Bureau.  I need to keep her Grace Legend alias a secret.”

“No one has noticed Angela racking up the air miles?”

“No,” Neal said, “because she’s filing a lot of the flight plans under her mother’s name.”

“Clever,” Mozzie said approvingly.  “Why do you feel bad for her?”

“In a sense we’re both using her.  She’s the middleman.  Middlewoman.  Henry won’t talk to me, probably because he knows I won’t approve of his plans and I’d have the best chance of changing his mind.  The primary way I have of getting information to Henry is to tell it to Angela.  She’s almost certainly leading him to believe that she’s tricking me into sharing information, and has to hope she can pass it along in a way that convinces him to pay attention.  If that doesn’t succeed and Henry sticks to his original plan, she’ll probably feel guilty for not conveying my message well enough.  And I’m sure Henry’s made her promise six ways to Sunday not to tell me anything about his plans.  Because, you know, heaven forbid a plan of Henry’s involve anything straightforward like simply telling me what’s going on.  Angela probably doesn’t even know all of it, and she has to realize that if she tells me too much and Henry finds out, he could cut her out and try to do everything on his own.  Then he’d be truly isolated without anyone to keep him from going over the edge, and there’s the guilt factor again.  She managed to slip me the information that she’s a pilot, and that cleared up a lot.  But I hate to think how much more I don’t know yet.  I don’t even know what questions to ask her.  And if I spend a lot of time talking to her, his other accomplice will notice and alert Henry.”

“You’re certain she’s not both accomplices?” Mozzie asked.

“There’s no way.  She doesn’t have the technical expertise or the time.  Her last quarter at the University of Washington just wrapped this month, and that means she’s been taking final exams.  The accomplice you’re looking for has a high-level security clearance to access the data Henry needs, and the time or technology to sift through it.  We’re talking about someone who can not only run constant searches for any activity related to Robert, Henry or the family, but could also monitor for anyone else running searches on those same subjects.”

“That means someone in the FBI, the NSA or Win-Win,” Mozzie said.  “Or possibly the Marshals.  I’ve yet to uncover how vast their web is.  And those are the official channels.  This could also be the work of a top-notch hacker.”

“Whoever it is, they have to be passing the results to Henry by satellite.  You track that number, and I’ll know who to confront.”

Mozzie nodded and looked ready to head out on his assignment.

There was one more thing Neal wanted to discuss, first.  “I haven’t had a chance to look at the Urban Legend site since last week.  Can you show me what you’ve done?”

Mozzie opened his laptop and regaled Neal with the conspiracy he was spinning, both on the group’s site and on various music forums.  The recordings Miranda had provided not only had many hits, but the links had been shared and posted to other sites an impressive number of times.  Neal clicked on one of the links and was impressed with the quality of those old recordings.  Miranda did fantastic work.  Any recording made in her studio sounded great.

“That sounds like you, Neal.”  June was standing in the dining room doorway.  Neal was pleased to see that she was smiling.

“Part of it is me,” he said.  “We were joking around that day.  We recorded Henry and me singing alternate verses.  Then we recorded Henry trying to sound like me, and me trying to sound like Henry.  Then Miranda selected pieces from the recordings and merged them together, with the result that only she knows who sang lead versus harmony for each portion in the final version, and she won’t tell no matter how much we try begging or bribing her.”

“I have an analysis underway by experts, comparing this song to others where we’re certain Neal or Henry is the singer.  There’s software used for authenticating supposed lost recordings, to distinguish real recordings from fakes,” Mozzie explained.  “The results will be posted in a few days, and should inspire even more debate in the question of whether Neal and Shawn are the same person.”

“And who is Shawn?” June asked.  She sounded intrigued, which was a change Neal welcomed.  For weeks June had seemed entirely disinterested in the world around her. 

Neal told June about Urban Legend and their con, with commentary provided by Mozzie.

“This Stan Masterson sounds despicable,” June said.

“Scum of the earth,” Mozzie agreed.  “Masterson Music is an example of the worst of modern corporations run amok.  The company is an unchecked bully in the music industry, and Urban Legend will be the David to take down Goliath.”

“How can I help?” June asked, and Neal congratulated himself on adding her to his crew.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

It wasn’t until the afternoon that Peter had time to search for information about the song “Fix You.”  It became an exercise in frustration, and he was starting to regret not assigning this effort to a clerk.  It was a relief to think about something else when Tricia called.  She was checking to see if there was anything she needed to do the next few days in her role of coaching Neal.

“Not today.  Tomorrow I’m having him work with Jones, so he should be set.  Right now I’m the one who needs help.  I had the bright idea to keep my skills sharp today, but I’d forgotten how tedious research can be.”

Tricia chuckled.  “It makes you appreciate the field work, doesn’t it?  Is this for a case, or just a practice exercise?”

“I’m starting to think it’s a wild hare.  There’s a slim chance it could be a lead in a case.”  Peter wasn’t going to bore her with the details, but then he had a second thought.  “When you first joined the team, you looked into some intellectual property and copyright infringement cases.  Did any of those involve music?”

After recommending a few resources that might help, Tricia added, “At your party I had a chance to talk to Ilsa Hughes, and I learned she started her legal career in the field of intellectual property.  She specifically mentioned lawsuits involving music.  Her knowledge of rap artists is astounding.”

“You’re kidding!”  Peter had to smile at the image of the elegant and refined Mrs. Hughes listening to rap.

Then Hughes’ assistant knocked on his door and it was time to get back to work.  Hughes’ absence meant that some of his management tasks had been delegated to Peter.  The stack of paperwork the assistant left on Peter’s desk was daunting. 

It wasn’t until Peter got home that he had time to try the resources Tricia had recommended.  He considered putting it off until Hughes returned and things slowed down, but after last night’s argument with El, he thought it would be good for her to see him working on something that she found interesting and safe.

Working with someone who found this research interesting made a world of difference.  It still took an hour to find what he was looking for, but it didn’t feel that long when El was there smiling at him and exclaiming with pleasure each time they uncovered a lead.

What they discovered was that “Fix You” was expected to be a song on an upcoming Coldplay album.  The band had started recording the album in January of 2004 and the release date was projected to be January of 2005, with speculation of delays beyond that.  “A whole year?” Peter had asked in surprise.  “How can it take that long?”

El shrugged.  “I can’t say I’ve ever understood why it takes so long to release an album after it’s recorded.  But in this case, if we add in the rumors I found on the fan sites, it sounds like the group is mired in the creative process.”

Putting aside that aspect, Peter tried to make sense of what they’d learned.  Coldplay was kind of a big deal, he guessed.  El had heard of them and thought they were on a trajectory for even more success.  “How did Henry know the music and lyrics for a song that hasn’t been released yet?” he asked. 

“Maybe it’s a fan thing?” El suggested.  “He had a T-shirt from one of their concerts.  They might have released a song early for some of their fans.”

Peter remembered Henry saying something about things being leaked early.  “But if that’s the case, why didn’t we find a recording or even the lyrics online?  It’s been more than three months since Henry played it at the cabin.  That’s a long time for an early release to stay secret.  Isn’t it?”

“It is.  And honestly, if a group is going to release a song early, they would want word to get out, to increase interest in the album.”

Satchmo got their attention, reminding them it was time for his walk.  As they returned to their house afterward, Peter came at the mystery from another angle.  “What if Henry got the song through Win-Win?  Maybe the company provides services to the band, or to the record company.”

“That could be it,” El agreed.  “There are so many people involved in producing a song, you know.  The songwriters, the recording studio, the producers, the musicians, and then there’s the PR and distribution.  Either Henry or Win-Win could have contacts at any of those levels.  With his interest in music, maybe he’s been trying to get Win-Win involved in that industry.”  She grinned, “Drumming up business, you might say?”

“Please, no music puns,” Peter insisted on a groan.  “It’s been a long day, and when Hughes’ assistant gifted me with extra paperwork, I thought a metal rock band was playing their drums in my head.”

They stepped inside the house and let Satchmo off his leash.  “Why don’t you ask Neal?” El suggested.  “He’s interested in music, too.  He’d probably enjoy talking about it.”

“That’s the thing, El.  He would _not_ want to talk about this.  It was clear back in March he was annoyed when he learned Henry sang a song that hasn’t been released yet.  He was worried that I’d find out.  I just can’t figure out why.”

“Could it have something to do with where Henry is hiding? Or how?”

“Maybe.  But if it’s relevant to finding Henry, and Neal hasn’t told me, that could be a serious problem.  It means there’s probably something illegal going on.”

“Hmmm.”  El sat on the sofa and absently rubbed Satchmo’s ears.

Peter sat beside her.  “What?”

“Do you think Noelle would know?  About the song, I mean.  If she knows, her insight might help you determine if it’s relevant to Henry’s disappearance.”

“If she doesn’t know…  If it’s something Neal and Henry are hiding from me and from their family, then it must be something serious.”  Peter leaned back in the sofa.  His instincts as father figure and FBI agent were fighting.  Maybe he should keep the lid on this Pandora’s box, to protect Neal.  But on the other hand, knowing all of the relevant information and acting on that as an agent was his normal mode of protecting people.  He couldn’t have both.  Either he was blissfully ignorant – although knowing there was something he didn’t know wasn’t his definition of bliss – or he could gain knowledge that might implicate Neal and his cousin in something illegal.  He rubbed the back of his head.  The drums were returning.

“You know,” said El, “I’ve been meaning to give Noelle a call.  I’d like to hear how she’s holding up, ask her about the budding romance with Joe.  And it just so happens she was there with us when Henry played the song, so it wouldn’t be totally out of the blue if I asked her about it.  Theoretically, it might be a song I’d like to use at an event.  Maybe I should get in touch with her tomorrow.”

“You’d tell me if there’s anything I need to know?”

“Absolutely,” El said.

Peter suspected that El’s definition of what he needed to know differed from his own, but that might be for the best.  He’d earned the nickname _Archeologist_ by being relentless about uncovering the facts and at times like this his persistence could conflict with respecting Neal’s privacy.  He trusted El to hit the right balance.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed Neal Caffrey’s birthday on 3/21! I celebrated by spending the day building a Pinterest board for my previous story: Caffrey Flashback. 
> 
> Travis appears in The Queen’s Jewels by Silbrith, and he describes his experiences with being bullied in that story.  
> The Coldplay album was expected to launch in January 2005 and eventually was released later that year. According to Wikipedia, the group wrote many songs in 2004 before finally selecting the ones they wanted for this album, and I have no idea when in that process they wrote “Fix You.”
> 
> Disclaimer: I’m not an expert on satellite communications.


	14. Lessons

**New York.  Tuesday evening.  June 29, 2004.**

After a draining trip to Las Vegas and the success of recruiting June into the Urban Legend con, Neal would have preferred to celebrate with an evening off.  He envisioned a nice meal, a bottle of wine and listening to music someone else had performed, topped off by appreciating the city lights from the comfort of his loft.  Unfortunately Mozzie and June insisted that he couldn’t afford to lose the momentum he’d gained in Las Vegas. 

He begrudgingly agreed.  After a cup of coffee, Neal started by calling Theo Guy, thanking him for arranging the performances in Las Vegas and asking if he could point Neal to more gigs in the next couple of weeks.  Theo gave him some leads, and mentioned how pleased his friend had been with Neal’s work in Las Vegas.  The friend also had a club in Atlantic City and would be interested in duplicating the publicity he’d received by having the feuding Legends appear in his Vegas venue.

Theo also brought up Neal’s suggestion that he hire an assistant.  “I think I could afford someone part time.  You know anyone who’d be interested?”

“Yeah, a singer who’s going to business school.  Part time is probably perfect.”  Neal called Randy Weston’s store and confirmed that Sam would be working that evening, then arranged for Theo to meet him there at 7pm.

When he introduced Theo to Randy, the men immediately started talking shop.  Randy recognized Theo as a former member of the band Local Devastation and was thrilled to have a bona fide rock star in his shop.  Theo was impressed with the quality of Randy’s instruments and said he would send musicians to the store.

Randy’s daughter Sam was behind the counter, ringing up a sale.  When she was done Neal approached and said, “Hi, I’m Neal.  I think you know my brother, Shawn Legend.”

“Oh, goodness!”  Sam hugged Neal.  “I can’t believe it.  I’ve heard so many stories about Shawn’s little brother.  He kept describing you as a teenager.  It’s hard to believe you’re actually grown up.  Can you hang around for a while?”  When Neal said he wasn’t in a hurry to get anywhere, Sam reminisced about the concerts where she’d met Shawn.  She’d been a backup singer for a band before trying to go solo, and Shawn had encouraged her to strike out on her own.  “I just wish I’d listened when he told me to avoid Masterson Music.  Signing with Masterson was the worst decision of my life.  Did you know Shawn visited me when I was recovering from my overdose?  He actually felt guilty he hadn’t done more to convince me – as if that were possible.  No power on earth could have prevented me from signing that contract.  Their offer, and the hype around it, that was the biggest high of my life.  No matter how many drugs I took after it all fell apart, I never felt as good as I did when I thought I was going to get the fame and accolades they told me to expect.”

That made Neal think about his mother and her drinking.  Had she been trying to regain an earlier happiness, or simply to forget the sadness of her life?

“I’ve seen a lot of speculation about Urban Legend recently,” Sam continued.  “No matter what I read, I can’t believe Shawn would treat Grace like that.  Not after he was so kind to me.”

Neal brought his mind back to Sam.  “He’ll be glad to hear it.  It’s good to see you’re back on your feet now.  Your dad said you’re going to business school?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot more practical than trying to make it as a singer, and it turns out I’m pretty good at my classes.”

“I know Randy’s thrilled to have you here, but what would you think about working for someone else?  I know the owner of a recording studio who could use part-time help.  From what Shawn’s said about you, I thought you’d be perfect.”

Sam stared at him a moment, and her eyes filled with tears.  “I could…  I could really work in the music industry, and not be in violation of my contract with Masterson?”

“We can take a look at your contract, but I’ve never heard of them prohibiting a performing artist from recording the performances of others.  No promises, of course.  It’s up to you and Theo to see if you want to work together, and…”  Neal trailed off as Sam hugged him again.  This time she held on longer.

“I… I can’t believe it.”  Her voice was broken by tears.  “I never thought I could…  I told myself that working here while I got my degree was all I could ever have, that music was never going to be more than a hobby to me now.  I told myself everyone in the music business was a jerk, everyone out for number one, you know?  I couldn’t even let myself hope…”

Neal saw a box of tissues behind the counter and handed them to Sam, who was wiping her eyes.  “Have you heard of Local Devastation?” he asked.

“Are you kidding?”  Sam smiled through her tears.  “In high school I sang their songs all the time until Dad insisted I learn something else.”  She tossed a tissue into the trash, and then looked at Neal with dawning awareness.  “You said _Theo_ …  You mean _that_ Theo?  Theo Guy!  Oh my God!”

Neal took Sam by her shoulders, turning her around until she faced Theo and Randy.  “Let’s introduce you.”

She squeaked and hid behind Neal.  “Are you kidding?  No.  I’m a mess.  I need to wash my face.   And my hair is all…  And my clothes...  I can’t meet him wearing this.”

After a few minutes of reassurances, Neal pushed Sam in Theo’s direction and got them talking.  He watched in satisfaction as they got wrapped up in their conversation.  Randy was behind the counter now, talking to a customer.  Neal was about to walk over to the neighboring bar for something to eat when he heard, “’Scuse me, do you work here?”

A red-headed boy, about 14 or 15 years old, looked up at Neal.  Seeing Randy was busy and not wanting to interrupt Sam, Neal smiled at the boy.  “I’m helping out today.  What do you need?”

“I need a guitar I can play so my brother will let me join his band.”  The boy mumbled it, as if afraid of being overheard and belittled.

“Garage band?” Neal asked.  When the boy nodded, Neal asked about the kind of music the band would be playing, and subtly figured out the kid’s budget.  It was obvious the boy – his name turned out to be Wesley – had his heart set on the guitar he was standing in front of, but it was too expensive and not suited for a beginner.  Asking what he liked about this guitar, Neal scanned the shop and found one that looked similar but would be a better choice.  “Have you ever seen one of these?” Neal asked, pulling another option off the wall.

The boy reluctantly left his first choice and followed.  He looked at the guitar in Neal’s hands.  “How is it different?” he asked, showing how little he knew about guitars.

Neal patiently described the merits of this model while also learning about the big brother who had recently decided he didn’t want a little brother tagging along all the time.  He demonstrated a chord and then let Wesley try it. 

“Wow,” said the boy, in awe.  “I didn’t suck.”

“Yeah.  Now try this.”  Neal adjusted the boy’s fingers.

“Awesome!”  The kid was so excited that he wasn’t mumbling anymore.  Sam and Theo heard and walked over.  After being introduced, Theo didn’t seem to mind that the boy had never heard of him.  The former rock star grabbed another guitar and played along as Neal continued teaching the boy.  Sam joined in on an electronic keyboard near them. 

When an older boy with the same red hair walked into the store, he looked on in shock to see Wesley playing a guitar with a group of talented adults.  As the impromptu performance ended, shoppers and Randy gave a round of applause.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Randy said, “allow me to introduce this evening’s performers.  On keyboards we have my lovely daughter Samantha.”  Sam bowed.  “On guitars we have Theo Guy, formerly of the Grammy-winning band Local Devastation, and…”

“And Wesley,” Sam said.  “And adding vocals we had a favorite from our Thursday night performances next door, Neal Legend.”

Neal was glad to see the older brother congratulated Wesley, and that their parents were purchasing the guitar.  “Do you mind if I mention this on our website?” Sam asked Neal and Theo.  “It would be great publicity for the store.”

“No problem,” said Neal, knowing Mozzie would be thrilled to see more exposure for Urban Legend.

“Fine by me,” added Theo.  “It makes me wish I had time to give lessons.  I used to, you know, when I was first getting started.  Maybe once I have an assistant I’ll have time for that again.  Nice meeting you, Sam.  Stop by tomorrow and we’ll fill out an I-9.”  He shook her hand and then left the shop.

Neal glanced at Sam, who was almost jumping in place.  “I got the job!” she said.  She hugged him one more time.  “I’ve got to tell Dad!”

Neal smiled, happy for Sam, and convinced that she and her father would be willing to help Urban Legend when they took on Masterson.  He returned a few items to their proper places in the store while he relived memories of giving music lessons with Henry.  You got a lot of wannabe musicians at concerts, who were thrilled to get lessons from actual performers.  It was a way to pick up a little extra cash and to gain the support of fans.  It worked especially well at the concerts that were all-day events with many bands.  There was always time to kill between performances, and they’d set up near the refreshment area and get a line of people who wanted to learn the basics or refine their skills.

“Mr. Legend?” 

Neal stopped daydreaming and paid attention to the world around him.  “You’re Wesley’s mom.  He’s a quick learner,” he said.

She nodded.  “Mr. Weston said I can’t pay him for the lesson because you aren’t an employee, but I’d like to thank you.  Wesley’s been disappointed about being left behind as his brother gets older and forms his own interests.  I haven’t seen him this excited about anything in weeks.  I really expect he’ll want to take lessons and keep playing even after the garage band disintegrates.”  She handed Neal a business card.  “I work for _The New York Times_.  I’m an assignment editor for business news, but I know people in the entertainment beat.  I’m assuming you’re a professional musician?”

“Trying to be,” Neal said.

“If there’s something I can do for you, give me a call.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, sliding the card into his wallet.  Coverage in _The New York Times_ arts section would be amazing for Urban Legend.  But having a contact in the business side might be even better when they wanted to spread the word about Masterson Music.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

On his way home, Neal stopped at the runaway shelter where he’d been doing volunteer work.  At first he’d gone there on Saturdays, but running into Sara Ellis was a perk of volunteering and her schedule had changed recently.  She typically showed up on Tuesday evenings.

When he arrived, Sara was already giving a self-defense lesson.  Neal continued walking down the hall, stopping at a room where a group of kids were arguing with a counselor.  “I’m not talking to no cop,” a teenager insisted.  “They don’t wanna help me.  They see me, they think I’m causin’ trouble.”

“But they can help,” the counselor insisted.  He noticed Neal in the doorway and said, “Tell them, Neal.”

Neal shrugged.  “I avoided cops when I was a runaway.  When they saw me and my cousin sleeping in his car, they were more likely to threaten us with jail time for vagrancy than they were to point us to a shelter.”

“Right,” said the teen. 

The counselor shook his head.  “But don’t you want to change that?  If you want the cops to change how they react to you, they need to get to know you.  That’s why I want to invite members of the local precinct here to talk to us.  We can educate them on how to interact with and help runaways, and they can help us understand why they’ve been hassling some of you.”

Neal listened to the arguments going back and forth.  There were three kids in the room, but one did most of the talking.  At a pause Neal asked him, “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he said immediately, with a sense of belligerence that definitely wasn’t going to go over well with the average cop.

Neal kept his stance relaxed as he leaned against the doorway, and kept his voice soft and level.  In no way did his body language telegraph aggression.  “Yeah, I get you want everyone to think you’re older, so they’ll listen to you.  I did the same thing – got an ID that said I was 18 when I was still 15.  But really, how old are you?”

“Fifteen,” the kid said, his voice softer.  He liked Neal; most of the kids did.  They believed that he really identified with their issues and experiences, and they were curious about him.  He didn’t tell them he worked for the FBI, and didn’t talk much about his current life.  As a result they spun fantasies that had him being everything from a spy to a gangster.  And in their attempts to learn more about him, they unconsciously mirrored his gestures and tone of voice.

Neal nodded.  “Thought so.  Can you pull off thirteen?”

The kid nodded back. 

“Here’s what you do.  Invite the cops here, and look as young as you can.  Don’t try to loom over them.  Sit down across the table from them.”  He took the chair across from the counselor, subtly mussing his hair and pulling down his shirt sleeves so they looked too long.  He kept his eyes wide and innocent, and looked years younger.

“Wow,” said one of the kids.

“Keep your comments short and your words soft.  You want them leaning forward to hear you.  Yeah, like that,” he said, gesturing toward the counselor.  “They may come in aggressive.  Be non-threatening.  You’re just innocent little kids.”

One of the kids snorted.

“Yeah, but you can pull it off.  You’re innocent, scared little kids who need their help.  Bring out their protective instincts.  When they’re calm, you start to mirror their body language.  If they nod, you nod.  If they lean forward, so do you.  Follow their lead.  People like that.”  He turned to the one kid who looked least convinced.  Based on the comments he’d made earlier, it sounded like he’d had the most negative experiences with the local police.  “Let’s try it.  You come in as the cop who’s been on your case the most, and I’ll be you.”  Neal stood and mimicked the kid’s posture.  He shrugged and crossed his arms and scowled.  “Officer,” he said in a challenging tone.  Then he shook his head.  “Since we’re not having a shootout at high noon, that’s not right.”  He relaxed.  He didn’t smile, but at least he cleared his expression of emotion.  “Officer,” he said again, with a neutral tone.  “Have a seat,” he offered, and sat down himself.

The kid strode forward with an exaggerated swagger and overly deep voice.  He tried to lead with anger, but Neal kept diffusing the situation and refusing to argue.  He ignored accusations and waited out the yelling.  It was good for the kid to get this out of his system before the real cops showed up for the meeting the counselor wanted.  When the kid ran out of steam, the counselor picked up the part of the cop’s annoying partner, and he and Neal showed how the conversation could work, throwing in imitations of the kids and of TV cops to get some laughs.

He ended the conversation with a smile for the kids, but he felt tense.  He’d almost forgotten what it had been like to fear the cops, and to expect any interaction with the law to be an interrogation.  He was grateful to have those days behind him.

When he left, he found Sara waiting for him.  “That sounded like a heated conversation in there.  What were they talking about?” she asked as they walked to a favorite coffee shop.

Neal described the issue and concluded, “I ended up with equal parts success and frustration.  I think I made a positive contribution, based on my own experiences and what I learned when Henry was getting his master’s in psychology.  It makes me want to call him up and talk to him about it, and then I hit the wall of frustration because there’s no way to contact him.”

“Still no word?”

“We talked for about five minutes this weekend before he disappeared again.”  He held the door open as they reached the coffee shop.  “How was your self-defense class?”

As they waited in line, Sara praised her students and then transitioned into a description of what she was doing at Sterling-Bosch.  When they found seats and waited for their order, she asked Neal how things were going at the FBI.  He mentioned his hopes that he’d finally be included in the Robert Winslow case, after uncovering a lead over the weekend.

Their lattes were delivered and Neal asked, “Do you ever talk to your former co-workers at Winston-Winslow?” Sara had worked for Henry before Sterling-Bosch had recruited her away.

She shook her head and swallowed before saying, “I still feel bad about leaving when I did, right as everything happened with Robert and Henry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Neal said.

“No, but my giving notice and leaving a hole in the team didn’t help.  Henry has a loyal group and they…  Well, let’s just say they didn’t hold a going away party for me.  The more outspoken among them said I was abandoning ship.  They didn’t use the word _rat_ , but it was implied.  I think they enjoyed escorting me out on my last day.”  She took another sip, pausing for Neal to respond.  When he remained silent she said, “Are you still with me here, Neal?”

“Sorry.  I’ve been working on a plan for finding Henry, and you’ve inspired an idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” Sara said.

Neal studied her.  She had information he could use, but he had qualms about using a friend.  It was bad enough making Angela deal with torn loyalties.  “This isn’t exactly by the book.  Maybe you’re better off not knowing about it.  Plausible deniability, you know.”

“To hell with that,” Sara said.  “I’d like to help.  It would feel good to do one last favor for my old boss.  Maybe then I’ll stop feeling guilty about quitting.”

“He might not be grateful,” Neal warned.  “He needs to be found and stopped from his reckless search for Robert, but he’s too obsessed to realize it.”

“All the more reason to take action, with all the help you can get.  What do you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking of going to Baltimore over the Fourth of July holiday and sneaking into Win-Win.”

“That isn’t as simple as it sounds,” Sara warned.  “Their security is top-notch.”

Neal hid a smile.  Win-Win did have excellent security, but Sara didn’t know about his cat burglar days.  Getting into the building was the easy part of this plan.  “True.  But if I were to stop by Henry’s apartment first, borrow his clothes to look more like him, and pick up his badge, that gets me inside.  The thing is, I’ve never been to Henry’s office, and the security people will be suspicious if they see Henry Winslow wandering aimlessly about while I try to find it.  What I need from you is directions.  You can tell me what floor it’s on and how to get there from the elevator.”

“That’s easy enough.  What do you expect to find in Henry’s office?”

Neal shrugged.

“I’m not telling you how to find it until I know what you’re planning.”  She put down her coffee cup decisively.  “In fact, as a former Win-Win employee, I still have some loyalty to the company, no matter what they think.  I’m not going to tell you how to find his office.”  Before Neal could muster his arguments to convince her to help him, she added, “I’ll show you.”

It took Neal a moment to process that.  “Oh no.  No, Sara, you’re not going along with me on this.  It’s…  It’s going to be on the Fourth, while the office is empty.  Don’t tell me you haven’t made plans for the holiday.”

She barely blinked at this roadblock.  “Nothing that can’t be canceled.”

He finished his coffee and leaned back. “If you give me the directions I need I’ll tell you what I have planned, but I’m not taking you with me.”

“Top floor,” Sara said. 

“Left or right off the elevators?”

“It’s all so fuzzy.  More information might jog my memory.”  She grabbed their empty coffee cups and stood.  “Think about it.”

She put the cups in a bin and walked to the ladies’ room.  Neal checked his phone for messages while he waited for her return.  A minute later, a hand reached out from behind him and snatched his phone.  “Hey,” he protested, turning to grab Sara’s arm.

She returned to her seat.  “Oh, look, I can access your email.”

“Stop that.”  Neal took his phone back.

“I can take care of myself, Neal.  I know self-defense.  I can be stealthy.  Henry taught me a lot, and Sterling-Bosch has added to my skills.  Instead of protecting me, why don’t you respect my abilities and let me help?”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Then tell me.  Let me be the judge of whether it’s something I can handle.”

“If I tell you, you have to promise you’ll keep it to yourself, even if you decide you can’t go along with it.”

“That’s fair.  Now spill, hotshot.”

Neal explained his reasoning about Henry’s accomplice, and then said, “I suspect this person is accessing Win-Win data, and to do that he or she has to be keeping an eye on the company’s security to avoid being caught.  On the Fourth, if the accomplice learns that Henry unexpectedly arrived at the office that should shake things up.  I think whoever it is will either show up or try to call him on his office line to confirm he’s really there and find out what’s going on.  That’s my best chance to confront this person.”

“You’re going to confront him alone?  Are you crazy?”

“Keep in mind, this has to be a friend of Henry’s, someone who wants to help him.  If I can get a few minutes to talk to this person, I can make the case that the best way to help Henry is to let me find him.”  He smiled his most convincing, trust-me smile.  “It’s probably gonna be boring, just sitting around waiting to see if anyone will show up.  Definitely not worth canceling your plans for.”

Sara raised a brow.  “I’ll pack a lunch.  We’ll make a picnic out of it.”

“A picnic in Henry’s office?”

“Well, the security guards will get suspicious if someone they haven’t seen for weeks suddenly shows up and spends hours in his office on a holiday.  They’ll be less likely to come knocking if they think Henry is there because his new girlfriend has a fantasy about a romantic tryst in the executive suites.”

In the end, Neal agreed to let Sara go along to Baltimore with him.  Mostly because he was certain that if he didn’t agree, she’d simply travel there on her own and catch up with him.  It would be easier to keep the situation under control if he could see what she was up to. 

It wasn’t, he assured himself, because he wanted to see how far she’d take the romantic tryst con.  He smiled as he walked home, not sure if he was more amused by Sara or by himself.  But it had to be a good sign that he was looking forward to this trip.  Somehow, when he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d started getting over Kate.

With his mind on his hopes and plans for Baltimore, he almost didn’t notice U.S. Marshal Annina Brandel loitering outside June’s mansion.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

In the Wednesday morning briefing, Neal said he needed to talk to Jones and Peter about the Winslow case.  Hughes had returned from his trip to D.C. and raised a brow at this.  Peter hadn’t had a chance to talk to Hughes about his decision to involve Neal in the case, and he knew he’d be called into Hughes’ office before the end of the day to discuss it.  Peter’s more immediate concern was for Neal, whose impatience was palpable.

When the others left the room, Neal stood and paced as he explained that he’d been contacted by the Marshals last night.  Neal’s absence from New York had triggered another phony email to Marshal Brandel, ordering her to look into where Neal had gone and what he was doing. 

“Annina and her boss pulled in a tech expert they trust,” Neal said, “and they think the emails are originating from the company that provides tech support for email and other standard corporate applications.  They have internal support for the systems with witness data, but they outsourced the less secure applications to a vendor that specializes in IT.  The Marshals aren’t supposed to send witness data in email, so it’s considered safe to outsource.”

“What’s the company?” Jones asked.  “It might be the same group who provides support to the FBI.  The government likes to reuse approved vendors.”

“You think…”  Peter started, but Jones was already nodding.

“What are the chances of the Manhattan branches of the Marshals and the Bureau being targeted at the same time?  And what do the Marshals and White Collar have in common?” Jones asked.

“We’re both interested in Neal,” Peter said.

Neal stopped pacing.  “Wait.  What happened with our email?”

Jones filled him in on the attack that prevented email from flowing externally over the weekend.  “Not a big deal, so no one noticed right away.  But it could be a test by someone with bigger plans.”

Finally sitting down, Neal said, “If Robert and his accomplice are behind this, he’s more dangerous than I thought.  The information he could have access to…”  He shook his head.  “How much of our Winslow case notes and speculation has been shared by email?”

“Most of it,” Jones confirmed.  “But we can plug that gap.  From now on we’ll communicate urgent updates in person, and keep our notes on a secure, encrypted drive with a password.  It’ll be hosted on FBI servers, and not in the vendor’s data center.”

Peter nodded in approval, but said, “I can see there’s more, Neal.  From the looks of you, you tossed and turned all night and you’re running on coffee now.  What else is going on?”

“Annina’s alerting the Marshals protecting my mom and Ellen – going through channels that are more secure than email – to recommend they be relocated.  She thinks if I’m a target, they could be too, if only as a way to get to me.”

“That’s smart,” Peter said.  “She’s taking the proper precautions, and the Marshals have a 22-year track record for keeping your family safe.  The good news here is that if Jones is right about the IT vendor, this could finally be a solid lead for tracking down Robert’s accomplice.  I’ll see if we can send Travis undercover as an auditor.  This time of year the government checks up on our vendors to make sure they’re complying with all of the rules and record-keeping we require.  He could find out who at the vendor has access to both the Bureau’s and the Marshals’ systems.”

Jones stood up.  “This could take a while.  I think I’m on the right track regarding the vendor, but under the circumstances I don’t want to use email to confirm.  I’m going back to my desk to make some calls.”

“Good idea,” Peter said.  “Neal, let’s get some fresh air, OK?”  He led the kid outside and away from sources of caffeine.  Instead he bought a couple bottles of water and they sat near a fountain.  The sound of the splashing water provided a measure of privacy.  “What else did Brandel say?”

“She thinks my leaving town rattled someone.  Knowing what a control freak Robert is, I have to think it’s him.  His inability to track Henry has to be driving him nuts.  If he thinks I’m up to something, it could push him into making a mistake.”

Peter took a drink of water.  “Let me guess where you’re going with this.  You want to travel again?”

“Yeah.  I’d already made plans to head out of town for the holiday weekend, and my first thought was to extend the trip.  I’d like to travel under an alias Robert doesn’t know.”

“That would push his buttons,” Peter said.  “Both you and Henry disappearing.  He’d think you’re together, conspiring against him.”

“Yeah, and it would be safe.  Safer than staying home, actually, because he couldn’t find me.  But what if he decides to retaliate?  Peter, if he knows where the Marshals have my mom…” 

“They’ll move her,” Peter said, “and they’ll take extra precautions.  If you’re going to do something to rile him, this is probably the best time, when your mother is getting special attention from the Marshals and before Robert has a chance to track down her new location.” 

Neal nodded.

Peter thought it over.  “We’re talking vacation time, right?  You’re not going to pull a Henry and use your time off to look for Robert?”

“I promise.  Maybe go to the beach or something.”

“How much time are you thinking?”

“Friday through Tuesday, to start.  Maybe more time later depending on what kind of reaction we get from Robert.”

Peter took off his suit jacket while he considered this.  It was going to be a warm day.  What was it with Neal and El?  They both liked sunny beaches.  Peter preferred winter vacations with snow.  “I guess it’s good to get in one last summer vacation before you start classes.”

Neal had lifted his bottle of water to drink, but placed it back on the table.  “You make it sound like I’ve had a series of summer vacations.”

“Well, wasn’t that essentially your life from 18 to 22, hanging out with Henry?  One big vacation.  No job, no responsibilities?”

“You’re kidding me.  You think that was a vacation?  Peter, we lived hand-to-mouth.  There were plenty of nights we slept in Henry’s car.  Yeah, we told ourselves it was a big adventure, but we…  We had too much pride to ask for help, and we learned fast enough that the cops would rather chase us away than help us.  That’s part of the reason Henry enjoyed breaking the law.  Better than letting the law break us.  That’s how he described it.”

Peter sat back, hearing the anger and even a touch of embarrassment in the story.  He suspected that this had been brewing in Neal for a long time.  “That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“Yeah.  As a kid who’d idolized cops as heroes, I had a lot of illusions of how it was supposed to be, and they were shattered.  Reality’s harsh.”

Peter simply listened.  It was important to let Neal get this out without interruption, but in the back of his mind he was adding a note to Neal’s file.  Community outreach and public service were important goals in the Bureau.  In Neal’s midyear review, he should recommend that Neal talk to the local agents about how to interact with teen runaways.  When Neal stopped talking Peter asked, “You still volunteering at the shelter?”

“I went by yesterday.”

“Good.”  He drank more water and wondered if anything noteworthy had happened in that most recent visit.  Spending time with runaways at the shelter probably brought these memories and emotions closer to the surface.  “Your issues with law enforcement, does that all stem from your past?”

Neal looked puzzled.  “What do you mean?”

“Is anyone hassling you at the office?”

“No.  Hitchum’s gone.  The only other person I had an issue with was Agent Rice, and it’s not like I ever run into her.”

“Right.  But what about something more subtle?  You know, someone making you feel like you’re different.”

“I am different.  I’m a consultant.”

“But we’re all a team,” Peter insisted.  “Everyone should be treated the same.”

“That sounds nice in theory, but it’s another example of reality being harsher than your ideals.  Real agents can do things I can’t.  And they get treatment and benefits I can’t.  They get tuition assistance, for one thing.  It’s like I told Noelle: I’m the Pinocchio of the office.”

“That’s…”  Peter struggled with where to start.  His heart plummeted at the thought of Neal not going to grad school after all the effort he’d put into passing the entrance exams.  “I hadn’t heard the tuition assistance fell through.  When did you find out?”

“I don’t know.  A week ago?”

“What are you going to do?” Peter asked.

“Well, not tell anyone I was accepted into Columbia until I can figure out how to pay for it, for one thing.”  Neal stood up and ran his hands through his hair.  “I’ve got some ideas.  Just… just let me deal with it.”

Peter stood up to pat Neal on the back.  Interrogating him about his distant behavior could wait.  The kid had enough to deal with.  “Just remember I’m here for you.  If you want to talk about it, to run those ideas by me or even just to vent, I’m ready to listen.”  They walked back inside, and were silent in the elevator.  As he returned to his office, Peter saw Hughes was free.  Perfect timing.  He could find out what Hughes had heard at the party, and ask if there was any hope for reversing the decision about Neal’s tuition.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal’s advice at the shelter is inspired by his talk with the boy waiting to talk to the principal in the episode Upper West Side Story. Thanks to my beta Silbrith for prompting improvements in that scene.
> 
> In the next chapter, Peter finally talks to Hughes about the “teacher’s pet” issue.


	15. Giuseppe

**New York. Wednesday afternoon. June 30, 2004.**

Elizabeth called Noelle Winslow in the morning and left a voicemail. It was early afternoon when Henry’s mother returned the call. They chatted first about Noelle’s relationship with Joe, and El answered questions about the Burke family. The more she got to know Noelle, the more she hoped Joe would propose. Not only because she was certain they made a great couple, but also because she’d love to have Noelle as a sister-in-law.

After discussing Noelle’s plans to introduce Joe to her parents over the upcoming Independence Day festivities in Washington, D.C., Elizabeth moved to the other topic on her agenda. “When you were at our cabin this spring, Henry played a song I’d never heard before. He called it ‘Fix You.’ Do you remember? It went…” She hummed a bit.

“Yes,” said Noelle, “I do remember that.”

“It came to mind yesterday, and I started looking for it, and I wasn’t able to find it anywhere. An old college roommate manages a radio station in Boston and I asked her about it. I learned the strangest thing. It’s a song the group Coldplay recorded for an album that won’t be released until next year. In theory no one should have heard that song unless they’re working on the album.”

“So how did Henry learn it?” Noelle asked.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Does Win-Win do business with anyone who might be working on the album?”

“Not yet,” Noelle said. “And I don’t know of any plans to pursue the music industry for clients.” She paused. “It’s certainly an interesting question, but why are you asking it? Does it have any bearing on where Henry is now?”

So much for not getting Noelle’s hopes up. “I honestly don’t know. It was something I was discussing with Peter last night. It doesn’t seem likely, but who knows? Henry is so… so… serpentine in his thinking. It seems like any lead might connect in some way. Anyway, it was a loose end, and I thought you might know if it’s relevant.”

“Let’s see.” There was a sound of paper shuffling. “We were at the cabin in early March. Coldplay is based in England so I assume they would be recording there, and Henry took a vacation… Yes, here it is. I thought I’d made a note of it in my calendar. Henry went to Ireland in February. He wanted to meet some of his distant Caffrey cousins.”

“Do you think they went to England?”

“It’s certainly possible. These are the itinerant artists and musicians that my father fears will infect his grandchildren with a lack of ambition and responsibility,” Noelle’s voice briefly took on a brogue as she recounted Edmund’s comments. “He disapproved of the trip, and as a result Henry didn’t share many details about it. It’s certainly possible that some of the family in Ireland are backup musicians for concerts or recording sessions in Europe. They might know members of the band, and could have gotten permission for Henry to observe as they worked on the album.”

“I suppose that could explain how Henry knew the song,” El said, “but I don’t see how it intersects with where he is now. He can’t be looking for Robert if he’s hiding with itinerant musicians in Ireland, right?”

“No… not in Ireland. But there’s a similar branch of the family here in the U.S. Even those who’ve settled down tend to hit the music festivals, craft fairs and renaissance fairs over the summer, plying their wares or entertaining the crowds. I could imagine Henry slipping in and out of their caravans.” Noelle sighed. “It’s something Meredith and I did the summer between our junior and senior years of high school, at the invitation of my grandmother. Dad wasn’t thrilled. And now I’m regretting telling Henry about our adventures. Why is it that the things that seem great fun at 17 seem terrifying when you’re a parent?”

El chuckled. “If I ever have children I will conveniently forget some of my own adventures. I foresee selective amnesia about streaking across my college campus.”

Noelle laughed. “There is a bright spot to this. If Henry’s disguising himself as a court jester in medieval garb, someone will have a photo that I can use to blackmail him someday. That could make up for some of the worry he’s causing me now.”

“That sounds like something my parents would do. But getting back to your wandering Caffrey relatives, would you know how to contact them?” Elizabeth asked. She grabbed a pen and paper, ready to jot down phone numbers to give Peter.

“Yes, but I can already warn you most of them won’t talk to an FBI agent. It’s safe to say the majority of them don’t think of their creative endeavors as being the business of any government agency. Taxes are something of a sore spot, as I recall. And they’re rebels enough to think it a grand lark to help Henry hide from his mother.”

“It’s a dead end?” El asked mournfully. She’d wanted to wow Peter with her detective skills, but this wasn’t going to impress him.

“Not entirely. They’ll be happy enough to tell me their schedules for the summer, and if all else fails I can show up at some of the fairs to look for clues myself. Let me think about how best to approach them.”

They hung up and El was congratulating herself on what she’d learned when she realized she’d missed something. She called Noelle back and asked, “Does Robert know about the summer you spent traveling with your relatives?”

“No, and I didn’t mention it to Henry until after the divorce. I always felt pressure to be straitlaced and proper with Robert, and I didn’t bring up things like spending a summer masquerading as a saucy wench. Looking back, that was not a good sign for our relationship.”

“True. But at least it means he won’t be looking for Henry at those fairs.” She paused. “And you’d be comfortable telling Joe about that summer, right?”

There was a smile in Noelle’s voice as she answered, “If Mom kept my costume, I might show him my saucy wench side one of these days.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After talking to Peter about his plans to take some time off, Neal joined Jones in the conference room dedicated to the Winslow case. He waited while Jones wrapped up a phone call. “That was Allen Winston,” Jones said when he hung up.

“CEO of Win-Win,” Neal remembered. “Does he have any news?”

“Not yet. I told him about the security breaches in the local FBI and Marshals’ systems, and my suspicions that Robert’s accomplice is a tech geek. He’ll check to see if any former employees or other associates of Robert’s currently work for the vendor I suspect.”

“That’s a start. But we have to pick up the pace. I’ve been thinking about the implications of Robert’s appearance in Seattle during Angela’s birthday party. Henry’s birthday is in August, and before he disappeared he told me about some of the plans he was making with our grandmother. They wanted a massive event in D.C. over several days, coinciding with a Caffrey family reunion. My grandfather’s siblings and their kids and grandkids will all be there, and maybe even some extended family from Ireland. There’s no keeping something like that secret. Robert’s bound to show up.”

“Could be an opportunity to set a trap for him,” Jones suggested.

“Could be a blood bath,” Neal countered. “There’s going to be at least a hundred people. Artsy, non-conformist people from what I’ve heard. You aren’t going to get them to follow orders during an FBI op; these are people who like to improvise. Even without Robert there, it’s going to be chaotic. I can imagine Robert getting frustrated trying to pick out Henry or me, and simply firing into a crowd. Putting that bomb in Henry’s car in March was not the act of a man who cares about innocent bystanders.”

“You’ve got to cancel the party,” Jones said.

Neal imagined his grandmother’s reaction. If they hadn’t arrested Robert by then and brought Henry home, she would be heartbroken. He couldn’t bear the thought of her crying. “We’ve got to wrap up this case soon,” he insisted.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter knocked on the door of Hughes’ office. “Got a minute?”

“Come in,” Hughes invited. “What’s on your mind?”

Peter took a seat across from his boss. “I’m concerned about Neal. You know what a big adjustment it was for him to join White Collar. Not just for him, but for me and the whole team. I’ll admit that at first I was on edge, fielding one surprise after another. Then this spring we seemed to turn a corner. I thought we were sliding into home base, so to speak. He’d opened up to me, and there were fewer surprises. But shortly after the team party at my house, there was a change. He’s suddenly distant, keeping secrets again, and I’ve been worried. I’ve heard rumors about a conversation at that party that might have led to the change. Did you hear anything?”

Hughes nodded. “Heard something, saw something and then said something. Several members of your team noticed how much Neal seemed at home in your house, the way he was almost a co-host. I heard a conversation and then spoke to some people. What I learned is that you’ve got a group of agents on the team who think Neal’s a teacher’s pet. Letting something like that go unchecked can hurt the team working relations and your role as their leader. A couple days after the party I needed to talk to Neal on another topic, and dropped a bug in his ear about the potential jealousy.”

Peter closed his eyes a moment. He looked back up at Hughes. “And I suppose he thought I knew about this?”

Hughes started to shake his head, and then paused. “Now that you mention it, he said he wished you’d been able to tell him.”

“Damn it!” Peter stood up, walked to the window and looked out at the city skyline while he calmed down. After a moment he turned around. “I understand your concern, but you should have come to _me_ with it, not to Neal. It should have been my job to decide how to deal with it, including what to say to him. I’m his boss. I’m the one who should be guiding his work and correcting his behavior. Although in this case it was more likely me who should have made an adjustment.”

“Is there something I’m missing here?” Hughes asked. “Why is asking him to act professionally around the team such a concern? I said it was fine to be friends on your own time.”

“I’m sure that’s what you said, but I’m equally sure he heard a lot more subtext that’s been tearing him apart. God only knows what he decided he needed to do to save me and my job.” Henry had been right in their first conversation all those months ago. When the people in Neal’s life suffered, he experienced guilt overload if he thought he had a role in causing the suffering or if he thought he could have prevented it. Right now he probably thought he’d jeopardized Peter’s job, with a trickledown effect on Elizabeth and her new business and even their home. It was actually a sign of progress that Neal hadn’t simply packed up and run. But maybe he thought he would hurt Peter’s career even more if the gamble on hiring a former con artist didn’t pay off. Or maybe he was desperate enough to find Henry that he thought he couldn’t leave yet. Whatever the reason, Peter would capitalize on it, cementing Neal’s ties to White Collar while he repaired the damage.

Hughes pressed a button on his phone, and when his assistant answered he asked her to hold his calls and reschedule the meeting that was supposed to start in five minutes. “You’re right, Peter. It was your place to talk to Caffrey, and at the very least I should have spoken to you about my concerns first. But it’s obvious that there’s something else going on here. You’re making me think Caffrey’s a ticking time bomb, and if that’s the case I need to know his triggers so I can help you and the team avoid them. It’s past time to clue me in.”

Peter nodded and sat down. He’d gotten a lot of insight asking his brother for advice yesterday. He should have been asking his boss for help a lot sooner, rather than thinking he could or should handle such a big management challenge on his own. “The thing about Neal is, he’s so young. I mean, in some ways he has talents and experiences beyond his years, but in other ways he’s missed out on a lot and he’s kind of this wide-eyed boy figuring out what it’s like to have things we take for granted. He grew up idolizing an absent father, only to learn that the stories about his dad were all lies. The guy wasn’t a dead hero. He was a dirty cop who’d been arrested for murder when Neal was three. The first father figure he actually remembers was his mom’s boyfriend, a lousy excuse for a man who made a habit of beating Neal. He ran away from home as a teenager, hanging out with a friend he describes as Peter Pan. Eventually he thought his uncle Robert might be the role model he needed.” Peter nodded as Hughes rolled his eyes. “Exactly. Neal has never had a stable, reliable father figure.”

“Until you,” Hughes said.

“When you sent me undercover in December, Neal had already been studying me in a _know your enemy_ kind of way. We realized we had a common enemy in Villiers and worked together to stop him. The whole time, Neal kept looking for my weaknesses, and I confounded him by actually being an authority figure who wasn’t corrupt. He started joking around, calling me _Dad_ , but the joke was on him. He was craving a father like his mom had described, and I was the closest thing he’d ever found to that fantasy. That has to be part of what made him accept the offer to work for us. The stability he has here, it’s alien to him, Reese. I think he’s finally starting to decide that he likes it. He has so much potential if he stays on the right side of the law. This job is an important part of keeping him there.”

“That’s why he wants to treat you like a father.”

Peter nodded. “For the first time in his life, he’s latched onto a positive father figure and he needs that relationship to remain stable while he settles into what we consider normal. For him it’s strange and fraught with challenges. But he wants it, and I know he can do it.”

Hughes gazed into the distance before nodding. “That explains a lot. I wish you’d told me sooner. I assume you can put things right with him?”

“I think I’m already making progress.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Hughes offered.

“As a matter of fact, there is something. Going to grad school could do a lot to give Neal roots and stability, but he’s stressing over how to pay for it. He said the Bureau won’t help with his tuition?”

Hughes shook his head. “I’m sorry, Peter. I took it up to the head of HR, but they won’t budge on this.”

“Thanks for trying. I appreciate it.” Peter started to rise.

“I have to point out that we’ve discussed only one side the issue. I’m glad to hear you’re making progress with getting Neal back on track, but you still have team members who think Neal is your favorite and that’s going to make your job and his more difficult. How do you plan to deal with that?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“How are you going to deal with it?” Elizabeth asked over dinner that evening.

“Depends on the agent. Hughes told me who and what he overheard, and also who else he’s observed since then who may pose an issue. Some will react best to one-on-one assurance that I value them as much as I do Neal. Others need a more indirect approach. I plan to enlist Tricia, Jones, and maybe Travis in a campaign to point out that Neal isn’t a threat to the agents on my team. Among other things, I want them to remind people that as a consultant, Neal isn’t in competition with agents for bonuses or advancement. He’s on a separate path.”

El finished her glass of wine. “That sounds like a good description of Neal.”

“It’s a catch-22. On the one hand, Neal is special and deserves special handling. On the other hand, he probably sees special handling as a sign that he’s not up to par with the rest of the team. And he said something today that’s been bothering me. He compared himself to Pinocchio.” Seeing that El was done, Peter stood and started carrying plates into the kitchen.

Following him, El asked, “What did he mean?”

“It could mean a lot of things, but what sticks in my mind was Pinocchio had an obsession with becoming real. Looking at that from another angle, it means he felt like a fake. Like he had to prove himself.”

“Mmm. And he couldn’t lie. Or at least he couldn’t get away with it.” El put away the leftovers.

Peter filled the sink with soapy water. “That very restriction made him unreal. It might not be too far off base, either. Neal’s been scrupulously honest with me, in his own way. He’ll evade or leave things out, but amazingly for a world-class con artist, he’s never been caught in direct a lie to me.”

“As I recall, Pinocchio needed to rebel a little before he became a real kid. He made some mistakes, but he learned from them and made things right.”

Peter turned off the water. “I like the happy ending part, but I’m not a fan of how he got there. That rebellion you mentioned included running away from his father. I hope Neal isn’t considering that.”

El poured them each a second glass of wine. “He’s already run away from home once. Hopefully he learned everything he needed from that experience the first time around.”

“El, you’re brilliant!” Peter grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.

Wiping away bubbles from his soapy hands, El said, “I’m glad you realize it. Care to elaborate on what made you notice?”

“Neal’s story – how he ran away and struggled to get by – that’s something that melts even the hardest hearts. I’d already planned to have him provide training to our agents on how to interact with teen runaways who are victims or witnesses in a case. I need to get that scheduled, with the agents who are jealous of him in the room to hear his story. He won’t play for sympathy – that’s not his style – and that could work wonders to win over some of his critics.”

“You’re right. I am brilliant. Maybe I’m the good fairy in our version of Pinocchio. Let’s see… If you’re Giuseppe, who’s Jiminy Cricket?”

“Not Henry, that’s for sure. He’s in no position to give advice these days. I hope it’s Noelle and not Mozzie.”

“Who’s Mozzie?”

Peter chuckled. “Remember when we asked the gallery for a reference for a bartender named Dante Haversham? Well, let me tell you about this guy. Small in stature, massive in eccentricities. And whatever you do, don’t get him started talking about conspiracy theories.”

El laughed at the stories, but wore a skeptical look. Not a surprise, really. You had to meet Mozzie to believe him. With the dishes done, they relaxed on the sofa and El said, “This is nice. I remember a year ago you’d never talk about your work. I was starting to wonder if you didn’t trust me.”

“There’s a lot I’m not supposed to talk about,” Peter said. “But the problem was the parts that were safe to discuss were…” He didn’t want to call it boring. He’d always found his work intriguing; that’s why he was drawn to it. But he was well aware that most people outside the Bureau didn’t appreciate it the way he did. “It didn’t really lend itself to stories, not until Neal came along.”

“He changed the nature of your work that much?”

Peter leaned back into the sofa as he considered that. It was still the same job, regardless of who he worked with. “It’s more the way he views the world. It makes us see the cases differently.”

“And he introduced you to people like Mozzie. I have to admit I’d like to meet him for myself.”

“No, you really don’t. In person he’s a lot less amusing and a lot more annoying.”

El put down her glass of wine and turned in the sofa to face Peter directly. “That may be, but he sounds like the right person to send after the lead I got from Noelle.” She described the itinerant Caffreys and their distrust of government officials.

Peter interrupted. “Caravans? Are you talking horse-drawn wagons of gypsies?”

“Think campers rather than wagons. Maybe old RVs, or a VW van to cross the country and then pitching tents at night.”

“Who has a job that lets them travel in one of these caravans all summer?” Peter asked. He was mentally siding with Edmund Caffrey on this one. He didn’t see the appeal.

“Some do it all year. There’s always a craft fair or music festival going on somewhere. Although it’s the Renaissance Fairs that I’d most like to see. I haven’t been to one of those since college.”

Peter had never been to one, and would be more than happy to send Mozzie. That way he could avoid the experience himself, and guarantee he wouldn’t run into Neal’s odd little friend for a while. He said he’d call Noelle in the morning to learn which fairs and festivals these caravans of Caffreys would visit next.

“Maybe we could visit, too, if they’re going to be nearby,” El said. “I love the Renaissance costumes.”

Costumes. It was sounding worse and worse. “Are these like those _Pride and Prejudice_ costumes?” he asked, because she wore the same nostalgic smile she reserved for those Jane Austen movies. No way was he going to dress like that.

El went on to describe the costumes at these fairs, and it sounded even worse than the Regency getups. He tried to hide his horror, but clearly wasn’t successful because El started laughing.

Realizing that she’d been playing him, Peter laughed along. “So you aren’t going to suggest we spend our next anniversary at one of these fair things?” he asked hopefully.

She hiccupped once as she stopped giggling. “They aren’t as bad as I made them sound, but I’ll save the fair for a weekend with my sister. For our anniversary let’s go someplace with indoor plumbing.”

“How about a baseball game?” Peter suggested. “Yankee Stadium has all the amenities. We could even get box seats.” And he laughed again as El pummeled him with a sofa pillow.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Late at night from one of his safe houses, Mozzie traced the telephone number Neal thought belonged to Henry’s accomplice. It was registered to a corporate account, but a deeper search of the satellite phone carrier’s billing system revealed a contact name.

“No guarantees,” Mozzie said when he called Neal with the information. “Someone else might be the actual user of the phone, but I developed an algorithm to compare usage patterns of the satellite service with his habits and known locations at the times the phone was used. It supports my conclusions. Is it who you expected?”

“Yeah,” said Neal. “It is.”

“A worthy foe. Henry chose well.”

“We’ll find out when I lure him to Henry’s office on Sunday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read about when Mozzie and El meet, or about Peter forced to dress up in a costume, read Silbrith’s Woman in Blue, set a few months after this story.
> 
> Neal’s burning the candle at both ends these days, but if he can stay awake he and Peter will talk about the teacher’s pet issue in Chapter 16. But don’t expect an instant fix. It will take several chapters for them to reach a new equilibrium, because Neal is keeping a lot from Peter right now.


	16. Generating Buzz

**New York. Thursday morning. July 1, 2004.**

After the late-night call from Mozzie about the lead on Henry’s accomplice, Neal had logged on to the Urban Legend Analytics site Mozzie had created to see how much exposure their conspiracy was getting. He was impressed by the numbers, and followed some of the links out to the sites with the most activity.

Sam Weston had done a good job describing Tuesday night’s impromptu music lesson and performance with Neal Legend and Theo Guy. The implied tie between Urban Legend and the much more famous Local Devastation was great, and it got better. Their young student’s mom must have seen the story on the music store’s site and pulled some strings even without Neal’s request, because _The New York Times’_ site also reported the story.

Speculation about whether Neal Legend was still alive was rampant, with more and more people falling on the side of him being a real, live, separate person from Shawn. Now the debate was around whether Urban Legend had been better with Shawn and Neal or with Shawn and Grace. A comment on the Urban Legend site claimed there was a rumor that if all three performed together it would signal the end of the world, and Neal was certain Henry had posted that as a tip of the hat to how crazy and out-of-control Mozzie’s conspiracy was likely to become.

He stayed up much too late reading what people were saying about Urban Legend, and as a result he was bleary-eyed when Peter called early in the morning with the request to set up a meeting with Mozzie. Since he said it was related to a possible lead on Henry, Neal didn’t waste time expressing shock at Peter’s suggestion to involve Mozz.

The weather was good and outdoor meets were easier to secure, so Mozzie suggested a rendezvous in a park. It was closer to Riverside Drive than to the Federal Building, and when Neal called with the location, Peter recommended Neal skip the morning briefing. He’d be more productive by staying with Mozz at the site of the meet, keeping him calm enough to be coherent when Peter arrived.

Spending time with “the suits” still made Mozzie edgy, and it didn’t help that Neal had been too sleepy to ask Peter what he wanted from Mozz. Neal distracted his friend with questions about the Urban Legend con. “I noticed on our site that we have an agent listed now. Louis Renault. Isn’t that a character from _Casablanca_?”

Mozzie nodded, his eyes still darting back and forth as he watched for Peter to arrive. “The chief of police, ironically. His cynicism seemed fitting. I found I identified with him the most.”

Neal did a double take. “You’re our agent?”

“I’m the one monitoring the group’s email address and answering questions. Now that you’re receiving requests for appearances, you need an agent. I’m also your webmaster, under the name Ugarte.”

It had been a while since Neal had seen _Casablanca_ , but eventually it came back to him. “The pickpocket.”

“There are vultures everywhere,” Mozzie paraphrased, in a fair imitation of Peter Lorre. Before Neal could circle back around to the topic of Urban Legend having an email address and requests for appearances, Mozz stood and said, “Suit.”

Neal looked up to see Peter. He took another sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon. It was not good that he hadn’t seen Peter approach.

“Vultures everywhere,” Peter repeated. “ _Casablanca_? That’s one both El and I love.”

Neal stared down at his coffee cup. How much had Peter heard? They hadn’t said the words “Urban Legend” while he was walking up, right?

Peter sat down on a park bench next to Neal. Mozzie remained standing. He reminded Neal of a gull, hanging around in hopes of snatching a piece of bread, but ready to fly away if they proved unfriendly. “Yesterday Elizabeth spoke to Neal’s aunt Noelle,” Peter said.

“Elizabeth,” Mozzie repeated. “Mrs. Suit.”

“My wife, yes. Noelle mentioned that there’s an extended network of Caffrey relatives who travel about the country in caravans, making a living by selling crafts or offering entertainment at fairs and festivals throughout the year. She spent a summer traveling with them when she was a teen. She told Henry about it, but said she never mentioned it to Robert. There’s a possibility Henry gets around with these caravans, maybe spends a few days with them occasionally.” He looked at Neal. “Did he ever talk about these caravans when you were traveling together?”

Neal shook his head. There had been a handful of music festivals Urban Legend attended where Henry seemed to run into a lot of people he knew, but as far as he could tell it hadn’t been planned, and Henry had seemed eager to get away. It made sense now. He hadn’t wanted them to realize he was Shawn Legend. Chances were he’d avoid them now for the same reasons, but the caravans could make a good emergency escape.

Returning his attention to Mozzie, Peter said, “I get the impression the Caffrey Caravan doesn’t pay taxes on their earnings, and wouldn’t welcome the attention of an FBI agent. You might be more likely to win their trust. They’re supposed to be at a craft fair outside Philadelphia this weekend. Any chance you could join them?”

Mozzie nodded. “They sound like kindred spirits. I’ve always wanted to have a Thoreau phase; this could be my chance to ‘live deliberately’.”

Neal smiled as Mozzie waxed eloquently about the clarity that could be gained from spending time in the wilderness and living off the land. “Just how far outside of Philadelphia is this fair?” he asked Peter in an undertone.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Let’s put it this way: According to their website, there are buses running to the fair every hour from downtown, and a traveling carnival will be next door.”

“Not exactly Walden Pond,” Neal agreed. “Just as well. A real wilderness would send him into withdrawal.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal was hiding something. Peter was certain of that. He could mask the yawns and the way he desperately clutched his cup of coffee, but there was no disguising the fact that he wasn’t as sharp as usual this morning. In addition, there was that expression of worry when he noticed Peter had arrived, which seemed to indicate he’d been discussing something with Mozzie that he didn’t want Peter to know about.

As they got into Peter’s car, he wondered if Neal’s tiredness and distraction were related to his ideas for paying for graduate school. Now that Hughes had confirmed the Bureau wouldn’t pay, Peter was at a loss for how Neal could get that much money. In other circumstances he might have talked to El about cosigning a loan, but they’d just signed the lease for her new office space and were working on an application for a small business loan to cover Burke Premiere Events’ start-up costs. That debt on top of their mortgage stretched their credit as far as it would go.

Peter was certain Neal wouldn’t do anything illegal to pay for school, but there were any number of ill-advised options out there. It could be as innocuous as a second job, maybe something slightly embarrassing like being a singing telegram. It could be something the FBI frowned on, like working as a bounty hunter; that kind of work presented temptations to use FBI resources for non-case work, and could get a person fired.

Peter had intended to talk to Neal about his conversation with Hughes as he drove to the office, but he was distracted with guesses about what Neal might do as a second job. Bellhop? Bartender? He was in good shape; maybe he’d work at a gym. Or, heaven forbid, as an exotic dancer. He had a nice voice, maybe he could do voiceovers. Or answer calls at one of those 900 number lines for phony psychics or sex chats.

He glanced over at Neal, as if somehow he might be able to guess by looking at him. But unless Neal was participating in a sleep study, he wasn’t going to get any answers. The kid was even more tired than Peter had guessed. His eyes were sliding shut, and Peter let him rest.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal blinked. Last thing he remembered they were about half way to the Federal Building, and now they were parked. There would be no hiding the fact he’d fallen asleep. Everything he was doing as Neal Legend in the evenings was taking its toll, and he couldn’t tell Peter about it. He was supposed to be playing Find the Lady, keeping the FBI focused on his search for Henry and distracting them from the Masterson con.

He kept expecting a comment from Peter about his unplanned nap, but instead the agent stared straight ahead, frowning. “Peter? Is something wrong?”

He turned his attention toward Neal. “I’m worried about how you plan to pay for Columbia.”

Did Peter think he’d turn to crime to get the money? Neal thought Peter trusted him more than that now, but the secrets he was keeping would have consequences.

“You asked me to let you deal with it, and I want to respect that, but it’s hard to ignore the evidence right in front of my eyes. Whatever it is you’re doing, you’re wearing yourself out, and it will get even worse when you’re in classes on top of everything else.” Peter paused, seeming to struggle with what to say or how to say it. He stared out the windshield again. “FBI agents are inquisitive by nature, and I have a hard time letting go of puzzles.”

Neal nodded. He’d seen the way Peter attacked cases and crossword puzzles. He needed to be careful not to turn the Masterson con into a puzzle for Peter.

“I want to insist you tell me how you’re going to get the money.” He looked back at Neal, who had to force himself not to squirm under that laser focus. “I keep thinking of how to ask. More than that, how to coerce you into telling me. That combination of being an agent and a dad is turning me into a control freak. I probably lean that way at the best of times, but more so now.” He shook his head. “And that’s how we describe Robert, especially in relation to Henry. He’s a control freak. Am I any better than he is? Is this how it all started for him?”

After a moment of shock, Neal reached forward, putting a hand on Peter’s nearest arm. “You can’t be serious. Peter, you’re nothing like Robert.” He leaned back again. “You have no idea what he’s like.”  

“No I don’t. Usually I can understand the people we’re investigating in our cases, but I can’t figure out Robert. What drives a man to have that kind of rage toward his own son? If I don’t understand, I can’t really say it won’t happen to me.”

Neal swallowed back a few potential replies, because he’d promised to keep Henry’s secrets. If he could just find his cousin, maybe he could convince him to share parts of his experiences with Peter. Maybe that could give Peter the insight he needed to solve this case. “You’re nothing like him. I’m sorry, Peter. It’s my fault you ever heard of Robert and got involved in this case. If it weren’t for me, you’d never have been exposed to –”

“Stop,” Peter interrupted. “This is not your fault. Robert is a criminal, and it’s my job to stop criminals. Even if I’d never met you, we would have become aware of his crimes. Any evil he brings into people’s lives is his own fault and no one else’s.”

“I won’t blame myself, if you stop thinking you might be like him,” Neal offered.

“That’s a deal,” Peter agreed. “One more thing. I talked to Hughes yesterday. I’ve been racking my brain to understand why sometimes you’re willing to confide in me and sometimes you want to avoid me. He told me about your conversation.”

Neal struggled to keep a poker face. Peter hadn’t known?

“His conversation with you – he did it with the best intentions. And honestly, he’s impressed with your work and wants you to continue doing exactly what you’ve been doing the last six months. But his approaching you on the topic of favoritism was not how these things are supposed to be handled. Some of that’s on me. There were things I should have told him, but didn’t. He can’t do his job effectively when I keep him in the dark. And the same applies with you and me. If something’s bothering you, Neal, you have to tell me. We could have gotten past this nearly two weeks ago if you’d let me know what Hughes said to you.”

“I thought you knew.”

“Yeah, I get that. But you should have checked. And for the record, if I thought there was a problem with how you do your job or how you act at work, I’d tell you in person. Don’t assume anyone else speaks for me. Got that?”

Neal considered it a moment. “I do, but he had a good point. If I’m making the other team members jealous, that can hurt your position.”

“No, Neal. If _I’m_ making other team members jealous of you, then I need to know so that I can do something about it. Now that Hughes has explained what he observed at the party, I’m taking action to reassure team members who think I’m biased.” Peter opened his car door. “Now let’s get back to work.”

As Neal followed Peter into the office, he was glad to have the issue out in the open. But he was also determined to keep his own behavior strictly professional. He made sure he worked a full day and didn’t try to leave early heading into his vacation. However, calling it a vacation was kind of a joke. He’d be working on the Masterson con or looking for Henry the entire time.

He’d thought he could at least take it easy Thursday evening, but got a call in the afternoon from Theo Guy asking if one of the Legend brothers could fill in at a concert in New Jersey that night, replacing a backup singer who had food poisoning. For that concert he used the lessons he’d learned from Bess the makeup artist, and called himself Shawn. He wanted to avoid having Neal Legend being associated with the northeast, and therefore switched between identities.

Miranda had come through with opportunities for Friday and Saturday. He would sing some of her new songs at clubs in Miami and Atlanta, and at Mozzie’s urging he agreed to an interview with an Atlanta radio station to generate buzz for his performance in that city.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Friday morning El had some unexpected time on her hands. The clients who were supposed to meet with her about planning an event needed to reschedule at the last minute, so she made a cup of tea and then settled in front of her laptop. She browsed _The New York Times_ site, especially hitting the softer news. She wanted ideas for venues, food and entertainment for upcoming events.

The name Urban Legend caught her attention. That was the group her old college friend had told her about. From what she’d read a few days ago, she’d thought they weren’t very well known yet. Seeing them mentioned on thissite was a surprise.

The article described a music lesson given by one of the Legends with a former member of Local Devastation. It was a nice, feel-good story. It also changed El’s thinking about Urban Legend. If they were working with Theo Guy, that sounded like they were much more established than she’d thought. Probably not a group she could afford for one of her events. The article mentioned speculation that the Legend brothers might reunite. If the lead singer could mend his differences with Grace Legend, the group might transform from a duo to a trio, and there seemed to be interest in hearing all three perform together. After listening to snippets of songs by the brothers and then by Shawn and Grace, El was among those interested in hearing the three perform together. However, some experts cautioned that it might not be a good idea; there were links to discussions in industry forums about other groups who had tried to reintegrate old members, and the success rate was low.

There were more posts now in music fan forums about experiences at Urban Legend performances. Someone described getting lessons from Shawn and Neal Legend several years ago. Someone else described Grace disrupting a performance by Shawn in Las Vegas in the last week. El wondered if that was really a surprise, or a planned event to get attention. Either way, it sounded like it had been entertaining, and entertainment is what people wanted from musicians in the end.

The speculation that the younger brother had died was giving way to newer posts that said he had been very ill and had stopped performing a few years ago for health reasons. Their site claimed that the older brother had protected his privacy by spreading rumors of his death, while in reality he had been recovering after an intense series of treatments for a brain tumor, and now was able to perform again.

The rumors that Shawn and Neal had always been same person were quieting down. There were many first-hand accounts of people who had seen the brothers perform together several years ago. A recording of both of them singing was reportedly being analyzed to prove it was two different voices and not one person singing both parts. Apparently they were good at imitating each other, however.

When El finished reading, she was convinced that Shawn and Neal had been two different people at first, but was less certain that the younger brother was performing now. For all the buzz about them both making appearances recently, there were no reliable accounts of both of them being seen together since they’d split in 2001. It was possible that the older brother was pretending to be both of them now, but why? And if they were both performing, why didn’t they appear together to quash the rumors?

A reminder popped up for her next client meeting. She shook her head and shut down her browser. It was obvious. The rumors led to publicity. Whoever was handling their site and PR was a genius. A twisted genius, perhaps, but he knew what he was doing.  She’d never heard of a group without an album getting this much attention. Surely a record company would snap them up while they were hot.

She wished her business could gain as much attention as Urban Legend was getting. As she prepared for her clients, she wondered if she could find out who was the group’s publicist. Hiring a publicist wasn’t something she had the budget for, but maybe he could at least give her some tips in return for event planning services. Maybe Urban Legend would want to host an event? Perhaps they’d need to throw a party soon to announce a record deal. She made a mental note to look for contact information on their site.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On his drive to work Friday morning, Peter kept thinking about how Neal would pay for Columbia. Were there scholarships he could apply for? And why hadn’t he thought to ask that yesterday?

He also couldn’t stop comparing himself to Robert. A real dad would help his kid find a way to finance his education. He’d bet Robert had a hand in paying for Henry’s tuition, even if it had been indirectly through the divorce settlements. Of course, the Winslows had the advantage of being wealthy. Robert probably just wrote a check and didn’t even have to think about it.

After the morning briefing, Jones told Peter, “Took a while, but I finally got access to the NSA cell phone data again. I thought I’d start by looking through records over the last week to establish a baseline I can confirm based on his travel itinerary, and then monitor his current movements.”

Tracking Neal by his cell phone records was something they had done the first couple of months Neal worked for the Bureau. Hiring an ex-thief and con artist had been a risk, one Peter had countered by having Jones kill two birds with one stone. They used Neal as a test case for the NSA’s new program of collecting cell phone records, learning how to search and use the data in case they needed it someday for tracking a criminal. By classifying their activity as a test of their ability to use the data, they hadn’t needed to get a warrant. They were resuming that test now, and once again Peter didn’t need detailed reports of Neal’s activity. He trusted Jones to tell him if he saw anything that caused concern.

As frequently as Neal had checked in on his travels in Seattle and Las Vegas, Jones wouldn’t learn much looking at the past data but would be able to confirm its accuracy. “Go ahead. Get familiar with the system again so we’ll be ready to track him if he runs into trouble.”

Jones promised to give him a status report in the afternoon. Peter thanked him calmly, but inwardly he was cursing. Why hadn’t he arranged check ins for Neal’s time off? Sure, it was a vacation, and traveling under an alias he should be safe, but he didn’t want to underestimate the threat posed by Robert.

Furthermore, he hadn’t asked which alias Neal was traveling under, but he could figure that out. When Neal had exchanged a confession for immunity, he had surrendered his fake IDs. Peter had approved Neal raiding that supply yesterday. All he had to do was check to see which one was missing and he’d know what name to track.

Oddly, two IDs were missing. George Donnellyhad to be the one he was traveling under. That was a newer alias Robert didn’t know. But why had Neal taken the Nick Halden ID? He’d used that for the Highbury op earlier this year, and they all knew Robert was aware of that alias.

All of a sudden, Peter’s radar was pinging. Neal was up to something. Probably something reckless. That pushed his buttons both as an agent and as a dad. He didn’t care if he was being a control freak; he was going to make sure Neal didn’t try to take on Robert alone. Peter went down to Jones’ desk, where the junior agent had NSA cell phone records on his computer screen. “Put that on the back burner. First, I want you to look up any recent activity for two of Neal’s aliases. Get me his travel reservations, and set up monitoring to warn you if there’s any new activity.”

“What’s going on?” Jones asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Peter answered, “but we’re going to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should point out that I’m not an expert on the data the NSA collect or when they started collecting it, but I have an excellent imagination in that regard.
> 
> Thanks for your patience as I post every other week in April. Thanks as always to Silbrith for her encouragement and excellent ideas to improve this chapter, and for remembering the George Donnelly alias. 
> 
> Two weeks from now in Chapter 17 Peter will wrestle with the issue of how much he can pry into Neal’s activities if he believes it’s for Neal’s own good. That theme will continue for a few chapters as they try to establish a new balance in their relationship. They’ll work it out, I promise!


	17. An Examined Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it’s been two weeks since the last chapter was posted, I thought a reminder might be useful. At this point in the story, Peter’s worried that Neal is impatient with the FBI’s progress in finding Henry and Robert Winslow, and that he is going lone wolf. Right now Peter’s instincts as a nosy agent and as a protective father figure are at war. He wants to figure out what Neal is doing, because it’s a puzzle and because he wants to protect him if he’s heading into a dangerous situation, but he’s also aware that Neal would be annoyed to have his privacy invaded. Neal is on vacation through July 6, so he isn’t in the office.

**White Collar Division.  Friday morning.  July 2, 2004.**

Determined to learn what Neal was up to, Peter sat at his consultant’s desk.  He didn’t find any useful notes on the desk or in the drawers.  He was surprised to discover a drawer filled with ties.  Once he thought about it, he realized that Neal sometimes changed ties when going undercover, as if the change in color or style indicated a change in personality.  It seemed odd, but it was hard to knock his success in undercover work.

There wasn’t much in the way of personal items, Peter noticed.  Most of his team cluttered up their desks with family photos or decorations.  All Neal had beyond standard office supplies were a rubber band ball and a bust of Socrates.

He should ask Neal why he picked Socrates.  What Peter most associated with the philosopher was the saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  Well, Peter was examining the kid’s life now – at least the work portion of it.

Neal’s laptop was still on his desk. Agents often took their laptops with them when they left the office, but consultants were encouraged to leave their computers at the Bureau, a subtle reminder they weren’t trusted quite as much as agents.  Peter took the laptop up to his office and opened it.  When he’d been promoted to team lead, he’d been given administrative credentials that would let him log on to any of the team’s computers.  Theoretically it was so that he could pick up the thread of an investigation if an agent were incapacitated, but the unspoken side of those credentials was that it also allowed managers to snoop.

Like his desk, Neal’s laptop was relatively uncluttered.  He’d downloaded images of art for his screensaver.  He had files for his 2004 goals and midyear accomplishments.  The standard forms the Bureau required for case files were in a folder titled “Insanity” – an indication that Neal was not a fan of the paperwork required in his role.  None of these things was a surprise.

A folder called FTL had one file in it – a standard background check.  Peter opened it to see information about his own brother.  How had Neal gotten this?  He wasn’t authorized to run background checks on people not associated to cases, and the date…  Peter checked his calendar.  Yeah, this had been run when Neal was in Las Vegas and didn’t have access to a Bureau computer.  He scrolled down to see the request had been logged by Agent Tricia Wiese. 

Why had she run a background check on Joe, and why did she send the results to Neal?  Tricia was still on vacation, but Peter called her cell phone.  When she answered he asked, “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Yes, this works,” she said.  “My husband’s driving, the boys are sacked out in the backseat, and we’re on the interstate so cell coverage is decent.”

“Heading home?”

“That’s right.  I have a weekend of laundry ahead of me to deal with all the muddy clothes, but it was worth it.  It’s good for kids who grow up in the city to get back to nature occasionally.  What’s up?”

“Did you run a background check on my brother for Neal?”

“Yes.  He presented it as a lead for the Robert Winslow case.  Right around the time Robert disappeared his ex-wife started seeing someone, and somehow Robert was very well-informed about the family’s plans in Seattle.”

“You don’t honestly believe…”  It was ludicrous to think Joe was involved.

“Of course not.  It was a longshot, and nothing in the results point to his involvement.  But it was still a lead, and we aren’t supposed to make exceptions for family.  Neal knew I’d have to set a good example and run the background check.  And honestly, I had to admire his ingenuity and his concern.”

“He couldn’t believe Joe’s involved,” Peter said.  He’d known all along that Neal had no reason to suspect Joe, but seeing his brother’s name in the file had put logic on hold temporarily.  “Neal had another motive for manipulating you into running that search.”

“He’s worried about his aunt,” Tricia supplied.  “We’re talking about someone who fell in love with Robert, after all.  Even though she’s older and wiser now, he can’t be certain she isn’t blinded by a new romance.  With Henry missing, he’s picking up the task of making sure Noelle is safe with Joe.”

“So you went along with it.”

“Clearing Joe now saves us time in the Winslow case if down the line we learn someone’s getting information through Noelle.  But I’ll admit I also wanted to ease Neal’s mind.  For all his devil-may-care outward attitude, he has a lot of worries – more than most kids his age have.  I don’t think he’s the type who finds it easy to ask for help, so I went along when he tried to make this request relevant to the case.”

Peter asked if there was anything else Neal had asked or done that Tricia had excluded from her reports.  She said no, but that she’d let Peter know if anything odd came to mind. Then he warned her about the potential security breach.  “If there’s anything you need to tell me related to the Winslow case, call me rather than put it in email.”

That reminder got Peter thinking that a complete lack of any references to the Winslow case in email would be suspicious.  This Ferrari character could realize they were onto him.  Peter took a moment to write up a false status report on the case, attaching it to an email to Hughes and copying Jones.  Before he hit _send_ , he spoke to each of them to let them know what he was doing and why.  They agreed to respond and to send fake updates occasionally. 

With that taken care of, Peter opened Neal’s internet browser and checked the bookmarks and search history.  His working theory was that Neal was disobeying the orders not to search for Robert, and he expected to find signs of that.

What he actually found threw him for a loop.  The Julliard.  Professor Victoria Laszlo.  Music Industry Notes – New York.  Masterson Music.  Lots of searches on Masterson Music and their employees.  This had nothing to do with Robert Winslow.  Or with Henry Winslow, for that matter.  And yet Neal had spent a lot of time on it.  It was almost as if Neal was working a second case, one Peter knew nothing about.

He called a clerk, asking for any records they had on Masterson Music.  Peter didn’t know of any active cases involving the company, but there could be a cold case that had caught Neal’s eye.  After all, things had been slow for Neal until Tricia got Peter to agree that Henry’s disappearance should be treated as a case.

It didn’t take the clerk long to report that there were no active or cold cases involving Masterson Music.

Thinking back, Peter considered and discarded the idea that this might be related to Neal’s family.  They liked to sing, but that was a hobby.  They all had real careers that had nothing to do with music.  And the members of the newly discovered Caffrey Caravan were more troubadours than recording artists. 

When Peter had first recruited Neal, there had been that case involving threatening emails to Michael Darling.  Michael was a retired rock star, currently a professor of music and a composer, who visited New York occasionally to plan a charity benefit concert with his old group.  Neal was a huge fan of Michael’s work in Local Devastation.  Had Michael brought another concern to Neal’s attention?  But if that had happened, Neal would tell him, right?

Maybe not, if he’d learned about it after that talk with Hughes.  If this case was as tenuous as the last one they’d investigated for Michael, Neal might have been concerned that Peter wouldn’t support working it, or concerned about the flak Peter could get for letting Neal work a case that had few if any ties to Manhattan White Collar.  After all, Michael lived in St. Louis and while Masterson had a New York office, the company was based in Chicago.

He looked up Michael Darling’s cell phone number and gave him a call.  He learned that Local Devastation’s reunion concert would be in New York later that month, but that Michael hadn’t talked to Neal since February.  Michael had heard of Masterson, but had no personal experience with the company.  “Theo might be able to tell you something about them,” he suggested. 

Theo Guy didn’t answer his phone, but Peter left a message.  Since he’d never met the man, he could only hope Theo would believe he was with the FBI and not a crank caller.  If all else failed, Peter could stop by Mr. Guy’s studio and flash his badge.

As he considered his next steps, he remembered Neal had mentioned Mozzie might ask for assistance with his latest conspiracy theory.  Something about corrupt capitalists.  Could that refer to Masterson? 

He had no means to get in contact with Mozzie and no reason to think the odd little man would confide in him, but he could think of one person who might be able to tell him if the company was corrupt.  He called the Federal Prosecutor’s Office and asked for Ilsa Hughes.  He was relieved that she remembered who he was, and he dove in with, “When you were at the team party at my home a couple weeks back, you mentioned you have experience with lawsuits in the music industry.”

“That was earlier in my career.  Are you investigating someone in that industry now?”

“Not yet.  I have a lead that might be a dead end, but I hoped you could shed some light on it.  Can you tell me anything about a company called Masterson Music?”

“Ah.”  She paused.  “I need to be careful.  I’ve heard some things that could be considered slanderous if I repeated them, as I haven’t seen evidence of the claims.  To stick to public record, Stan Masterson purchased a failing record company about ten years ago and renamed it Masterson Music.  Over the years he’s purchased several other companies.  The rise of the digital music marketplace has changed the economics of the industry, and many companies haven’t adjusted to the new model.  That leaves competitors and suppliers in a weakened position, needing to sell or close.  The end result is fewer competitors, and those remaining tend to be behemoths.  That’s a situation that can lend itself to certain abuses.”

“Like a monopoly.”

“That’s one potential outcome, yes.”

“Have there been any charges filed against the company?” Peter asked.

“As large as they are, that’s a given, but nothing particularly significant or memorable.”

Talking to lawyers was often tricky.  Knowing Ilsa was busy, he didn’t have much time to get something useful from her.  He selected his next question carefully.  “In your opinion, are there charges that _should_ be filed?”

“Excellent question.  I don’t have any concrete insider knowledge, you understand, but I’d call the company’s financial results _unprecedented_.  None of their competitors come close to their profit margins.  Either they are exceptionally well-run from a cost-management perspective, or…  Well, I can leave that to your imagination.  You studied accounting, as I recall.”

Peter smiled.  “That’s right.  Thank you.”  As they ended the call, he wished he had time to delve into the company’s financial statements.  They might be guilty of anything from tax evasion to cheating their clients or business partners.  Tax evasion didn’t sound like something that would upset Mozzie, so it was more likely they were taking advantage of less powerful companies or individuals. 

If Neal had taken an interest in this as a potential case, perhaps they could look into it together after Robert Winslow was apprehended.  It might mean letting Neal consult for the Chicago branch of the Bureau, though, which would be a challenge with Neal starting classes in the fall.  That is, if he started classes…  Maybe getting away to investigate Masterson could be a consolation to keep his mind off Columbia if Neal wasn’t able to cover the tuition.

Peter spent the next hour on his plan to send Travis undercover at the IT vendor who managed their email servers.  He got the approval he needed and was initiating the request for a background and cover story for his agent, when Jones knocked on his door.  “I got Caffrey’s travel arrangements,” he said.  “All his reservations are under the Donnelly alias.  I didn’t find anything under Halden.  Right now he’s on a flight to Miami, and tomorrow morning he’s heading to Atlanta.  Looks like he’s coming back to New York late Saturday night.  Or early Sunday morning, depending on how you look at it.”

Sunday was Independence Day, and everyone got Monday July 5 off because the holiday fell on the weekend.  Neal was also taking Tuesday as a vacation day.  “Nothing scheduled for Sunday through Tuesday?”

“Not yet,” Jones confirmed.

Why stay in Miami only one night?  Was he simply keeping his costs down to save for college?  That seemed reasonable, but the point of Neal taking this time off was to drive Robert crazy by disappearing from New York. 

Instead he was driving Peter crazy.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Peter checked in again with Jones midafternoon.  The bullpen was emptying out, with people leaving early for the long weekend.  No one was nearby, so instead of asking Jones up to his office to talk about the top-secret phone records he simply asked, “You have any trouble with the NSA data?”

“Nah.  They’d restructured it since last time I accessed it.  Took a while to learn my way around again, but the new structure’s an improvement.  Now that I’m used to it, I can I find what I’m looking for faster than before.  The easiest part is when Neal was in Seattle.  He was carrying the phone we gave him – the one with GPS – and that really pinpointed his movements.  Since he also carried his personal phone, comparing the data from those two devices showed me what a vast difference GPS makes for tracking a person.  In Vegas all we have is his personal cell phone data triangulated by cell towers.  Given the density of tourists using their phones along the Strip, at least we’re getting more towers closer together, but it still leaves a lot to interpretation.  Right now the data just confirms that he spent most of his time in major resorts.  Venetian, Paris, Bellagio, Flamingo and Mandalay Bay were the main ones he hit.”

“And Caesar’s Palace,” Peter said, naming the hotel where Neal had stayed.

“Not so much.  Looks like mostly he just slept there.  Based on phone and text logs, he wasn’t talking to much of anyone other than us.  I found calls to his aunt Noelle and to his cousin Angela.”  Jones shrugged.  “You want me to watch his data while he’s traveling this weekend?  I can give you a general idea where he is in case we need to send Miami or Atlanta agents to his rescue, but that’s about it.”

Peter wanted to say _yes_ , but didn’t want to make Jones work on the holiday weekend.  He was about to ask if Jones could show him how to do it himself.  “Can you –”

Jones interrupted, “Don’t worry about the holiday.  My weekend plans with my brother’s family got canceled at the last minute.  My niece has tonsillitis.”

“Ouch,” Peter said, reaching for his throat in sympathy.

“Actually, I’d like to spend some time cross-referencing the NSA data with Winston-Winslow data from the same time period.  If you authorize a request to Win-Win, they can give me Caffrey’s credit card transactions while he was in Vegas.  Plus, they provide security data services to a couple of the resorts Neal visited, meaning I can look through security camera footage to see exactly where he spent his time.  If I can find a way to correlate both the NSA and Win-Win data sources, then we’d really be cooking.  That could be an amazing resource for future cases.”

Peter nodded.  Getting warrants for that level of tracking for future cases wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth the effort for particularly dangerous criminals.  Learning how to put the data together now would save time when it came to a real manhunt.  “You can keep track of where Neal is now while you dive into the Las Vegas data?”

“No problem,” Jones promised.

“Top priority is watching his data in real time in case we need to direct resources to help him.  But with that in mind, yeah, go ahead and ask Win-Win for their data and start the analysis you described.  We’ll get you some comp time once we close the Winslow case.”

Jones then handed Peter a file folder.  “These are the resumes you asked me to review for the probationary agent position.  I’ve ranked them in order of preference, with the one I think is the best candidate on top.”

“Thanks.  I’ll have HR set up phone interviews for the top three after the holiday.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Friday night El was working an event, something Peter realized he’d have to get used to.  He ordered a pizza, grabbed a beer and settled on the sofa with a baseball game on the TV.  He patted the sofa to invite Satchmo up, with a whispered admonition not to let El know, and opened the files of probie candidates.  Jones had done well with ranking them.  The ones with the most impressive and relevant skills were on top.  But they seemed… boring. 

Being bored by job candidates wasn’t a problem he’d learned how to handle in his brief management training.  Maybe he was spoiled with his current team.  They had a great mix of ages and experiences.  Jones had gotten a law degree after serving in the Navy and had an affinity for computers and data.  Tricia balanced work and a family brilliantly, with a flair for leadership and a love of the outdoors.  Travis had a genius for electronics and computer programming, skills he’d learned in a prior job at a mobile device manufacturer.  He tended to stay in the background and let people underestimate him, and then surprised you with his incisive conclusions. 

Of course it wasn’t fair to compare the candidates to Neal.  Peter thought about what it was like when he’d seen Neal and Henry working together.  No, one Neal per team was good, but one was enough.  He didn’t want the new probie to be Neal-level interesting.

Later he reviewed the Winslow case notes again, as if he didn’t have the file memorized.  What were they missing?  How did Robert elude the FBI and Win-Win this long?  How could it be that no one could identify his accomplice?

Once again Peter wondered how someone could want to kill his own son.  Was it a matter of being the ultimate control freak, that he’d rather kill Henry than let him be his own person?  But the kid didn’t seem particularly rebellious among his family, so what would have been the source of conflict?  He got along great with his mom and grandparents.  He was bright, seemed to be a hard worker, maybe a little irreverent with a wicked sense of humor.  He was athletic, or at least stayed in good shape, and had a deep sense of responsibility toward those he loved.  Most fathers would have been proud to have a son like Henry.

But there was more behind the surface.  What caused a kid like that, someone with a loving, supportive family, to drop off the radar for years as he had at the age of 20?  Did it have something to do with Robert?  If so, had Robert caused the disappearance, or had the disappearance sparked Robert’s rage?  It must be something significant, and yet seven years later Noelle still didn’t know why Henry had run or how he’d gotten by for nearly four years. 

Neal had adroitly avoided the topic, but he had to know the truth.  Peter couldn’t see him blindly following Henry and hiding out with him all that time without knowing why.  The fact that, despite his worries for his cousin, he hadn’t divulged this information to aid in the search…  Well, it worried Peter.  He couldn’t keep Neal safe if he didn’t have a handle on the dangers they were facing.  How could he convince Neal to disclose the full story?  

Relaxed by a few beers and a warm dog, Peter started to doze. 

_First he was back in his car Thursday morning, wanting to ask Neal about his plans to pay for Columbia.  This time when Neal’s eyes slid shut, Peter somehow had a blanket and tucked it around him.  And suddenly they weren’t in the car anymore, but in the hospital, waiting for Neal to awaken after the overdose of Flashback._

_Henry was there, stressed about whether Neal would recover, but he was younger.  Peter glanced at Neal, and he was younger, too.  They weren’t at Jacobi hospital anymore, but in Chicago.  This was how Peter imagined the day Henry found Neal and took him to a hospital to be treated for pneumonia._

_The twenty-year-old version of Henry looked up and noticed Peter.  They hadn’t met yet, but in the way of dreams Henry knew him anyway and didn’t question his presence._

_“What the hell are you doing?” Peter asked him.  “Your family’s worried, and God only knows what kind of trouble Neal’s getting into because of you.”_

_“Now or then?” Henry asked._

_“Are the answers different this time?” Peter countered.  “Why don’t you stop running and take some responsibility for the chaos you’re causing?”_

_“That’s telling him,” said a voice Peter knew only from videos of family gatherings Noelle and Graham had shared so that Peter and his agents would recognize Robert Winslow.  “Be more forceful, though.  That always worked best for me.”_

_“I’m nothing like you!” Peter responded._

_“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.  It’s not your fault, you know.  These boys, they’re flawed.  They drive you to desperate measures.”_

_“Neal!” Henry yelled._

_Peter looked around to see the hospital bed was empty.  While Henry searched the room, Neal stood in the doorway, finger to his lips in a shushing gesture.  Then he slipped away._

_Henry turned on Peter.  “This is your fault.  You’re supposed to be looking out for him.  You promised!”_

_“He told me he would be safe.  Away from New York, traveling under an alias Robert doesn’t know.  He convinced me it was the safest thing he could do.”_

_“If you think he’s safe, why’d you search his desk and laptop?”_

_“I got worried.  I learned he took an ID with him for an alias Robert knows, and thought he might be taking a page from your book, trying to get Robert to follow him.  That search was for his own good.”_

_“It was an excuse.  You wanted to snoop,” Henry accused._

_“I don’t have time for this.”  Peter pulled out his cuffs.  “Robert’s here and I need to arrest him.”  He looked around, but Robert had disappeared.  He wandered the corridors looking for him, and opened a door that took him outside._

_There was Neal, barely 16, standing with his arms crossed.  “Are those for me?” He glanced at Peter’s handcuffs._

_“Of course not.  I’m here to protect you, not hassle you.”  He put the cuffs away.  Taking in Neal’s look of disbelief he added, “I’m not like Robert.  I really want to help you.”_

_“By spying on me?”_

_He felt a twinge of guilt about the NSA data, and approving the use of Win-Win’s resources to track Neal.  “You don’t understand.  You’ve forced me into this by not being open with me.  If you’d just tell me what’s going on, I’d stop.”  He stepped forward.  He could see Ellen Parker up ahead._

_“Don’t go there,” Neal warned.  “Leave it be.”_

_But Peter walked around teenaged Neal to see Ellen and nine-year-old Neal sitting on the steps of a back porch.  Neal’s right arm was in a cast.  The hair that had been shaved on the side of his head where his abuser had cracked his skull had grown back but was still short compared to the rest, giving him a lopsided appearance.  “Still not talking?” he asked Ellen._

_She shook her head.  “He hasn’t said a word since he woke up from his coma four weeks ago.”_

_Ellen stood up and Peter took her place sitting beside Neal.  “Hey, kid.  You know who I am?”_

_The boy nodded, but kept staring down at the ground._

_“C’mon.  At least look at me.  I’m not ugly.  My wife says I’m handsome.”  He chuckled when Neal stared at him doubtfully.  “Well, at least my dog doesn’t howl when he sees me.”_

_Neal looked around, as if expecting to see Satchmo._

_“You want to come visit Satch?” Peter asked.  “Just say the word.  Talk to me, Neal.  Don’t keep me in the dark.”_

_He shook his head._

_“Enough of this nonsense, Neal.  You’re not protecting Henry, you know.  If anything, you’re making it harder for us to help him.  Tell me what’s going on.”_

_A crash caught Peter’s attention.  A car had hit something and he stood up to investigate.  It was a classic, silver Aston Martin, and a three-year-old Neal sat in the front seat, his nose bleeding.  Peter opened the passenger door and pulled out the child.  He kneeled on the ground to look into the big, frightened blue eyes of the boy standing in front of him.  “Neal, tell me what’s going on.  Let me help you.”_

_“You’ve found my grandson!  I knew he’d be returned to us.”  Irene, looking exactly as she’d appeared in the DVD Peter had seen on Father’s Day, walked up to them.  She picked up Neal, who was now the nine-month old version from the DVD.  She held him close a moment, and then kissed him.  “It seems like as soon as we find one of them, the other disappears.  Here, you look after Neal and I’ll find Henry.”  She handed the baby to Peter and walked away._

_The little boy cooed at Peter, who couldn’t help smiling.  It was hard to resist a happy baby._

_“I knew he’d be your favorite,” said the 16-year-old Neal.  He was sitting on a low tree branch, his feet swinging.  “All you really want is the version of me that you can order around and will do anything you say.”_

_“You don’t have much experience with babies, do you?”  Drawing on his experience with two nieces, Peter said, “They sleep a lot, mostly.  And they do it on their own schedule.  There’s no reasoning with them or telling them what to do.  I don’t think I have a favorite, but if I do it’s the version of you that will talk to me.”_

_“Da-da,” said the baby.  Peter stared at him, shocked but also pleased._

_Teenage Neal scoffed.  “Yeah, you say you want me to talk, but that’s all you want to hear.”_

Before Peter could answer, El shook him awake.  The dream faded, but parts came back to him over the weekend. 

With all of the debt they were taking on, the Burkes didn’t go anywhere for the long weekend.  Instead they stayed home and caught up on projects around the house.  At least that was the plan. 

“Peter?”

It was Sunday, the Fourth of July.  They’d eaten brunch, and now Peter was in the backyard, repainting the fence.  But when El said his name, he looked down at the roller he’d held while staring out in the distance.  The paint was drying on the roller, and there was none on the fence.  He tried to look innocent as he faced El.  “Need something, hon?”

“How about the truth?  Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Peter put the roller down.  “If Neal were here, he’d be criticizing my painting technique and telling me how to do this like one of the masters.”

“Hmm.  And is that what had you distracted when you were unclogging the sink, or walking Satchmo, or cleaning the windows?”  She sat down on one of the porch chairs.  “It was your idea to spend the weekend doing projects.  We can stop if you’re bored.”

Peter put a lid on the paint can and then took a seat across from El.  “You know, painting a fence always reminds me of Tom Sawyer.”

“He conned the other kids into painting it for him,” El remembered with a smile.  “Not Neal, though.  He’d want to do the painting himself.  He’d con the kids into doing his other chores so he’d have the time to paint a mural.”

“It’s odd, feeling like a dad and not knowing what my kid was like as, well, as a kid.”  He pondered the dream, which had hit on most of the few stories he knew of Neal’s childhood.  And they’d all focused on times the kid couldn’t or wouldn’t speak, as if to underscore the frustrating lack of communication now.  “And the whole relationship is, not backwards exactly, but kind of jumbled in order.  Like a dream.”

“The dream you were having when I got home Friday night?  It seemed intense.  I thought you’d be more comfortable upstairs in bed, but maybe I should have let you stay asleep to finish working something out in your subconscious.”

“Hold on a moment, Dr. Mitchell,” Peter kidded.  Sometimes El did sound like her dad, the psychiatrist.  “I don’t remember all of the dream, but I don’t need to.  I got whatever message my mind was sending.”

“And?”

“And maybe I need a beer, first.”

“Coming up,” El said, getting to her feet ahead of her husband.  She returned soon with cold beers for each of them.  She gave him a moment to savor the first sips and then asked, “Can you tell me about it?”

“I’ll try.  I don’t know how well I can explain it, though.”  Peter sat up straighter.  “When I first started investigating Neal, I thought of him as an adult.  A criminal.  We couldn’t find anything on his life before he turned 18, and I wondered sometimes what his early life had been like, why no one had stopped him from going down a path of crime.”

“You thought it wasn’t too late to reform him.”

“Yeah, and once I met him I kind of thought of myself as a mentor.  But he started joking around, calling me _dad_ , and then it transformed from a joke.  He really wanted a dad, wanted me in that role.  And it scared me, El, but I wanted that role, too.”  He drank more beer.  “We were taking baby steps.  And he had this childlike trust in me.  He almost idolized me, but Thomas Gardiner warned me that stage couldn’t last.”

“Do you think it’s over?” El asked.

“Maybe.  I think he still likes me and admires me, but he cherishes his independence, too.  We may have reached the rebellious teenage phase.”  He sighed, wondering if Hughes’ good-intentioned interference had pushed them to this stage before they were ready.  “It’s so tempting to lay down the law, tell him what to do and stop him if he strays from what I think he should do.  As an FBI agent and as his boss, I’m in the perfect position to do exactly that.”

“I think the question you need to ask yourself is: Do you trust him?”

He trusted Neal, he really did.  He trusted him to give his best effort, to keep his promises, to stay on the right side of the law, to go the extra mile to help the people he loved.  But he didn’t trust Neal to be wise when it came to self-preservation.  He didn’t trust him to think through consequences and to stay safe.

And so if Peter had Jones spying on Neal, it was the kid’s own fault for not being straightforward about what he was up to.  Peter had been repeating that to himself, but he still thought there should be a better solution.  A real dad – a dad who was better than Robert – would have found another way.

Neal wasn’t the only Pinocchio.  Sometimes Peter felt like a fake, too.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

It was early afternoon when Peter’s cell phone rang.  With a glance at the caller ID, his heart started racing.  “Jones, what’s up?”

“Peter, I’m sorry.  I met up with George for a game of basketball, and at first I thought I must have missed the notifications on my phone while we were running around the court.  But it wasn’t that.  They were delayed by a few hours.  A whole bunch of notices started popping up, couple of minutes ago.”  Jones was panting.  The game must have just ended.

“Tell me about these notices.  What’s going on?”

“Neal… he took the train to Baltimore this morning.  Bought the ticket at the last minute.”

“Which alias did he use?” Peter asked.

“None of ‘em.  He bought the tickets as Neal Caffrey.  Cell phone data confirms he’s there now.  Went to the neighborhood where Henry lives.  I have confirmation from security surveillance cameras.  He went to Henry’s apartment building, then to Win-Win HQ.  He’s been there nearly an hour.  The thing is…”  There was a pause, and it sounded like Jones was chugging a sports drink.  “Thing is, Friday when you gave me permission to combine the NSA and Win-Win data, I called Win-Win to get that started.  They’ve got the big, secure data servers, so it made sense for them to do the hosting and correlation on their end.  We tested it out, Peter.  I was getting real-time notices as Neal moved around Miami and Atlanta.  The delays now could be because of the holiday and increased data traffic, or it could mean someone in Win-Win didn’t want us to know Neal was there, not until it was too late.”

If Peter’s heart had been racing before, now it felt like it had skipped a beat.  He had a flash of inspiration of who could have caused the delay.  But had he figured out Henry’s accomplice, or Robert’s?  “He probably already knows what he’s getting into.  It’s like he’s waving a red flag at someone and plans to meet them alone.  How many times do I have to tell Neal not to do anything stupid?”

“Can we call someone local to check up on him?” Jones asked.

“No.  We gave Win-Win the keys to the castle.  To correlate the data for tracking Neal, they have access to the NSA data, plus they already had access to landline telecom data.  They’re probably tracking every call you or I make.  If we call for help, they’ll know.  Bureau email isn’t secure, and on a holiday a personal email for help won’t be noticed by our peers in Baltimore.”  Peter rubbed his face, aware he sounded as paranoid as Neal’s friend Mozzie.  Right now he wished he had the means to contact the little guy and ask for advice about evading Big Brother.  “Here’s what I want you to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Thanks also to beta reader Silbrith for pointing out the parts of this chapter that could be confusing to people who don’t live in my head. It should be clearer now, with her help.
> 
> The part about Peter having admin rights to his team’s computers is something I made up. I’ve never worked for a manager who could logon to my computer like that. By the way, the FTL folder name on Neal’s computer stands for “Find The Lady” which is what he calls his attempt to keep the FBI focused on finding the Winslows and unaware of Urban Legend.
> 
> As a caveat regarding Ilsa Hughes, I am not a legal expert.


	18. Fireworks Part 1

**Baltimore.  Sunday morning.  July 4, 2004.**

It was tempting to break into Henry’s apartment, both for practice and to show off, but Neal used the key he’d been given last year.  He’d only been here a couple of times.  Robert’s wrath wasn’t something Neal had wanted to bring down on Henry, so he’d abided by his uncle’s wishes and stayed away.

“Nice,” said Sara, taking in the views from the large windows. 

Neal nodded as he opened a desk drawer.  “More modern than my taste, but well done.”  The furniture was sleek and expensive, as was the apartment building, for that matter.  The expansive marble-floored building entry and elevator lobby were designed to impress, and they succeeded. 

“What are you looking for?”

Neal looked up in surprise.  “Clues to where Henry’s gone.”

“But hasn’t his apartment already been searched?”

“He isn’t officially a missing person.  I’m sure his mom looked in, and Win-Win would have had someone drop by, but they don’t know Henry like I do.  He may have left a message for me.”  But after half an hour of searching, Neal had to admit that if Henry had left a message, he’d hidden it too well.

Sara had also looked around, but gave up when Neal did.  They sat on the sofa and gazed out the windows at the neighborhood several stories below.  “You don’t seem too disappointed,” Sara remarked.

“I didn’t expect to find much.  Like you said, others were likely to search here, so he wasn’t going to risk leaving any big clues.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s seeing anyone.  No extra toothbrush.  No clothing that obviously isn’t his.”

“No photos of a happy couple,” Neal added.  After a pause he said, “So you haven’t been here before.”

“No.  Why would I have been?”

It had crossed his mind when he first met Sara in New York and she mistook him for Henry.  She’d sounded so pleased to see him.  She wasn’t Henry’s type, but she was the type his family would have picked for him.  Neal could see Henry dating Sara to make everyone happy.  “Just wondered.”

“Henry never dated anyone at Win-Win, and he was especially cautious to be just friends with those of us working for him.”

“You don’t work for him anymore,” Neal pointed out.

“And I don’t live in Baltimore, either.”  She shrugged.  “In other circumstances, if I thought he was interested, I might be tempted.  He’s a good guy and good-looking, and probably fun when he isn’t obsessed with finding his father.  But I have no reason to think he’s into me, and a long-distance relationship isn’t a complication I want right now.”  She held up Henry’s Win-Win ID.  “I found this when I was searching.  You still planning to impersonate him?”

They went through Henry’s closet, debating what he’d wear to the office on a weekend, and agreed on a red polo shirt to go with the black slacks Neal was already wearing.  He raised a brow and then went ahead and changed shirts while Sara watched. 

“Not bad,” she said.  Neal didn’t ask if she meant him or his attempt to look like Henry.  He’d considered bringing along the supplies from Bess the makeup artist, but had decided he didn’t want to explain why he had the makeup and training to look that much like his cousin.  Instead he stood in front of the bathroom sink and put in hazel contact lenses and then ran his hands through his hair to make it stand up in the way Henry wore it.  He’d opened a drawer to look for the gel his cousin normally used when Sara said, “Let me.” 

Neal turned around as she pulled a narrow tube out of her purse, twisted the cap, and applied the contents to his hair.  “What–” he started to ask but she shushed him and kept running the tube and her hands through his hair.  It meant she stood close to him, which felt good.  And she smelled good.  And she had an adorable expression that was half smile, half fierce concentration.  All of that combined to distract him from questioning what she was doing.

A few minutes later she stepped away to evaluate her work.  She stepped forward again to make a few adjustments, then put the tube down on the counter.  “Have a look,” she said.  Neal turned around to see himself in the mirror.  Automatically his hands went up toward his hair but Sara grabbed them.  “It needs a few minutes to dry,” she warned.

“That’s…  You…  My hair,” he finally managed.  He’d expected to see it spiky, like Henry’s.  And it was.  But…  “It’s blond!”

“It’s just a few highlights.  And it’s more caramel than blond,” Sara said calmly.  “You can’t expect anyone to believe you’re Henry if your hair is entirely black.”

That’s exactly what Neal expected, because he’d gotten away with it plenty of times.  Some dim lighting or a hat, and people saw what they expected to see.  “You dyed my hair!”

“It’s temporary.  Most of it will wash out, and the rest will fade in a few days.  It’s no big deal.”

“Are you kidding?”  Neal stared at his image in the mirror in horror. 

Once more Sara pulled his hand down as he reached up to touch her work.  “A little vain about your hair, are you?”

Wide-eyed in shock, Neal faced her and didn’t bother to deny it.  “Well, yeah.”  He glanced frantically toward the shower.  Was it too late to wash the dye out now?

“Stop being such a baby.”  She grabbed his arm and led him back out to the living room, where she picked up Henry’s corporate badge and dropped it in her purse.  “It’s past noon and I’m starving.  Let’s get that picnic lunch.”

Sara drove to a place she knew in Baltimore’s Little Italy, where she said they could find everything they needed for lunch.  And every time she reached for her purse Neal winced, wondering what other evil secrets it might contain.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

The Win-Win offices were in a building near the TransAmerica tower.  On the drive there they saw boats gathering on the Inner Harbor to watch the evening’s fireworks. 

The security guard was surprisingly alert for a holiday.  It was clear he remembered Sara, and so of course he would recognize Henry Winslow.  Neal imitated his cousin’s stride and voice easily, and Sara made sure he only faced the guard for an instant.  She was constantly engaging “Henry” in conversation, caressing his arm, fluttering her lashes as she looked adoringly at him and thanked him for indulging her in this executive office romantic picnic fantasy.  If Neal barely looked away from her, the guard could certainly understand.  As the elevator doors were closing, she placed the picnic basket on the floor and ran her hands up Neal’s chest to meet behind his neck.

She didn’t back away when the doors closed.  “Cameras?” he asked softly, letting his lips touch her ear.

“Mm-hmm.”

He reached out to press the button for the top floor, taking advantage of the opportunity to press even closer against her.  He looked intensely into her eyes and asked, “Are you sorry for messing with my hair?”

She blinked in surprise but shook her head. 

“Not even a little?” he continued, giving her a second chance as he reached toward the button that would stop the elevator.  He let her see a glimpse of something metallic in his hand, keeping it hidden from the security camera.

She watched his hand and faltered.  “Maybe a smidgeon.”

“Good choice.”  He smiled as he slipped a pair of handcuffs into his pants pocket.  “The badge wasn’t the only thing we picked up at the apartment.  I’m sure these are for restraining suspects, but we could have some fun if you want to give the guard a show.  We could add to your executive suite fantasy.  Maybe I could play bad cop and interrogate you.”

Sara looked up at the security camera and sounded a little breathless.  “You wouldn’t…”

The bell dinged and the elevator doors opened on the top floor.  “This was all your idea,” Neal said as he picked up the basket and they stepped out of the elevator.  “I’m just playing along with your con.”

She cleared her throat.  “Yeah.  I knew that.”  She led the way to Henry’s office.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

When Sara opened the door to Henry’s office, Neal paused in the hall and looked around.  “This was Graham’s office.”

“That’s right.  When Graham retired, Henry moved in here.  We all joked that if someone didn’t move into his space, he’d forget he was retired.  Now when he visits he has to hang out in the guest space for the Board of Directors.”  Sara placed the picnic basket on the floor, just inside in the door.  A sleek, glass-topped desk was near a wall of windows, with bookcases lining the two side walls.  Neal immediately started looking at the contents of the bookcases, and Sara was pulling a bottle of wine from the basket when something occurred to her.  “How did you know this was Graham’s office?  I thought you hadn’t been here.”

Neal paused, a file folder open in his hands.  “I’ve never been here since Henry was hired.  But a few years ago Robert brought me up to his office once.”

“Once was enough?” Sara guessed from Neal’s tone.

Neal put the file back and selected another one.  “He had a message for me.  More of a warning really, and he wanted to deliver it in an intimidating setting.  He made it clear he was an executive bargaining from a position of power, and I was… nothing.”

“Sounds more like a threat than a warning.”

“It was.  But from his perspective, I was the threat.  He had a future in mind for Henry here, and Robert believed I jeopardized his plans.”  Neal’s expression hardened.  It wasn’t often he let Sara see beyond his lighthearted side, but she knew there had to be some demons in his past.  He’d admitted to being a runaway as a teen, and from what she’d observed volunteering at runaway shelters, that indicated he’d known and was hiding something darker than his normal façade.  She pretended not to notice the change and kept her gaze focused on the contents of the basket as she asked, “Robert didn’t know you were going to work for the FBI?”

A harsh laugh answered her.  “Hell, I didn’t know that was going to happen.  I didn’t have much of a direction at the time.  When I saw what Henry could have here, I had to get out of his way and let him have the chance.”  Neal walked over, sat beside Sara and took the bottle of wine.  He removed the cork and filled two glasses.  “I thought I was doing the right thing, but being here makes me wonder.  Was he happy working here?”

Sara took the glass he handed her and looked at Henry’s desk, remembering him there.  “I always assumed so.  He was good at it.  He seemed to enjoy organizing us and solving cases.”

Neal placed his glass on the floor and pulled out the loaf of fresh Italian bread.  “The thing is, afterward I went on to do some stuff I was good at.  I enjoyed showing off.  It was fun, but looking back, I wasn’t actually happy. I just didn’t think I had any options until Peter recruited me.”  He finished building a sandwich and met Sara’s eyes.  “Did I abandon Henry to the same thing?  Is that why he’s so determined to stay away from us all now?  Maybe it isn’t just about Robert.  Maybe he’s exploring other options.”

“We’re each responsible for our own happiness.  You can’t take the blame if Henry didn’t like it here.  He made his own choices.”  She leaned forward as she made a sandwich.  “In the best of worlds, we find what makes us happy, and can go after it.”  Suddenly the handcuffs dropped onto her knee.

“And have fun,” Neal said in a very suggestive voice.  He leered at her cheerfully, and she ignored it.  They were friends.  He’d never indicated an interest in more.  On the contrary, he’d made it clear he was still getting over a broken heart. 

“You’ve got to get rid of those contacts,” she ordered.  “It’s too disconcerting talking to you and seeing Henry.”

Neal rose smoothly and quietly, and was gone from the room in an instant.  He moved like a cat.  It was kind of sexy, actually, and she kept having to remind herself not to take the flirting seriously.  It was all part of the game, staying in character in case the security guard looked in on them while making his rounds.  When Neal returned, his eyes blue again, she changed the subject to something safer.  “A few weeks ago you said you were thinking about going to graduate school.  Anything come of that?”

He shrugged as he sat beside her.  “I couldn’t talk the FBI into covering my tuition.”  He started eating the sandwich. 

Sara frowned.  He’d sounded so excited about going to school before, and now acted like it was no big deal.  “There must be another way to pay for it.”  She took a bite of her sandwich and pondered.  “I know!  Marry someone rich, or with a high paying job, and ask your wife to cover your expenses.  I used to hear about doctors doing that.  Wife puts them through medical school and then gets a divorce for her troubles.”

Neal swallowed.  “You volunteering?”

“No.”  Sara took a sip of wine.  “I’m not ready to settle down.”

“Well, if I can’t have you…”  Neal leaned back on the picnic blanket, arms crossed under his head, and gazed at the ceiling.  “I have other ideas about how to get the money.  The problem is picking which one.  Blackmailing Robert is out, since I can’t even find him.  Winning the lottery would work, but so many people are trying that route.”

“Yes, you’d want to be more original,” Sara agreed.

“Exactly.  The most original, most entertaining route would be to steal a Raphael.”

“What?”

“The thing is, in order to be good at solving crimes, you should be equally good at figuring out how to commit them.  I’ve told you about the time when Kate first broke up with me, and I couldn’t find any way to contact her.  Well, at one point I got to thinking that we were both passionate about art, and if a work by her favorite artist were stolen, that would get her attention.”

“Seriously?  How much had you been drinking when this occurred to you?”

Neal rolled to his side to give her what she could only describe as a very naughty grin.  “The thing is, when guy’s in love but suddenly can’t have any _fun_ with the object of his affection, he’s gotta channel that, um, energy–”

“Lust,” Sara interrupted.

Neal waved that away impatiently.  “You need to do something else to stay occupied.  And since I’m the faithful sort…”

“Instead of doing other women, you planned a crime.”

“It was the only thing big enough, challenging enough, to keep my mind off of Kate.”  He sat up.  “It would be exciting, but unfortunately I think it would get me fired, so I’m back to square one when it comes to paying for grad school.”

“Fired.  How about imprisoned?”

Neal chuckled.  “They’d have to catch me, first.”  He looked around the office.  “If I’ve learned anything from the FBI, it’s that there aren’t nearly enough files in here.  Just a handful in a bin on the desk and in that stand on the bookshelves.  Where are the rest?”

“Most files are locked away before people go home at night.  They’re strict about security here.”  She stood up.  “That badge we borrowed should get us into the nearest storage closet, where Henry would store his files.  This way.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Agent Travis Miller was lost in an electronics project.  There were rumblings in the audiophile community that the sound of vinyl records was actually better than anything you could get from a digital recording.  He’d convinced his aunt to ship him an old stereo system that had been gathering dust in her storage locker in Texas, and he was restoring it to decide for himself if it sounded better than his state-of-the-art system. 

At first he thought the knocking he heard was on his neighbor’s door.  Who would drop by his place on a holiday?  But the knocking continued, accompanied by Agent Clinton Jones’ voice.  Travis put down the part he was cleaning and opened the door to his Village apartment.  “Did I miss a memo or something?” he asked.  But Jones wasn’t dressed for work.  He was in sweatpants and a Harvard tee.

“Can I come in?” Jones asked.  Travis motioned him in and offered a glass of the iced tea he had chilling.  As Travis poured, Jones started talking.  He had an incredible story about the NSA and Winston-Winslow and a lead on the hush-hush search for Robert Winslow.  Or perhaps on the search for Henry Winslow, someone Travis had never heard of because he’d been on a special assignment in D.C. during the Highbury case.  Now it seemed that Neal was going lone wolf in Baltimore following up on a lead.  He was probably walking into a trap, and any attempt to warn him could spring that trap sooner.  “Peter and I are both known members of the Robert Winslow case,” Jones explained.  “We have to assume our movements are being tracked by whoever Neal suspects in Win-Win because I let them have access to the NSA data.  I left my phone at a friend’s place so anyone tracking me will think that’s where I am.  We’re pretty sure you’re not on their radar, so a call from your phone should be safe.”

Travis nodded.  He pulled out his personal cell phone, the one with a Central Texas area code.  He considered suggesting that he spoof the number so it couldn’t even be tracked back to him.  But he wasn’t sure Jones would approve.  The guy was really by the book, and he was in a hurry to get word to Neal.  So he just handed the phone to Jones, or tried to.

“I can’t,” Jones said, explaining his concerns that the NSA had voice recognition capabilities that could warn the suspect in Win-Win that he was calling Neal.  It had to be Travis making the call.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Lunch had been the most fun Neal remembered having in a long while, which made the prospect of going through the Win-Win file room all the more devastatingly boring in comparison.  But it was his last resort when it came to finding any clue of Henry’s plan.  The sleek desk had no drawers to search.  The bookshelves were of equal depth and didn’t conceal any hiding places.  The few books on the shelves weren’t hollowed out.  The ceiling had a smooth finish – there were no ceiling tiles that might cover a secret compartment.  And all of those were too obvious, anyway.  Win-Win would have already considered those options.

“Where do we start?” Sara asked as they stepped into the room.

“This is Henry we’re talking about.  It has to be something devious.  Something the average person looking for him wouldn’t consider.”

Neal’s phone rang, and the number on caller ID wasn’t one he recognized.  He had a moment of hope that it might be Henry.  “Hello.”

“Neal, it’s Travis Miller.”

Neal recognized the agent’s voice, but had no idea why he’d call.  “Yeah?”

“Your favorite Tuesday Tails opponent asked me to pass along a message.”

That had to refer to Jones.  Why wouldn’t he call directly instead of going through Travis?  “Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“No, nothing to worry about.  It’s a long story.  Why don’t you come on over and we’ll talk about it?”

“I’m not exactly in the neighborhood,” Neal objected.  He thought he heard the rumble of the elevator.  Was it the security guard making rounds, or Henry’s accomplice finally checking up on Henry’s supposed arrival at Win-Win?

“Yeah.  I heard you might be heading into some excitement.  Probably more than you were expecting.  How about you head home and we’ll rethink your plan?  You know they say you should leave fireworks to the professionals,” Travis said. 

It sounded like a cryptic warning, perhaps that he was about to run into someone with a firearm.  But if that was the case, how did the FBI know, and why wasn’t Travis simply saying he thought Neal was in danger?  The elevator dinged.  Sara poked her head around the corner to see who it was and then turned back to Neal and whispered, “It’s the guard!”

The guard must have been monitoring the cameras and seen them head to the file room.  That would look suspicious for a supposed romantic tryst.  “Hold on,” he said into the phone, and placed it on a file cabinet.  Neal gestured toward his blue eyes, no longer disguised by contact lenses. “Gotta keep my eyes closed.”  He whispered a suggestion in Sara’s ear, and she nodded.

As the guard rounded the corner, Sara shoved Neal and yelled, “How could you not bring condoms?”

His eyes closed in frustration, he growled, “You said you were bringing everything.”

“The picnic, you idiot.  Everyone knows the guy brings the condoms.”

Neal braced one arm against the wall, with his hands clenched and head bowed.  He took deep breaths.  Through gritted teeth he said, “Do you have any idea how sexist that is?”

Sara looked at the guard as if just noticing him and shrieked.  When the elevator opened she’d undone the buttons of her blouse and now she held the garment closed with one hand.  “What, are you some kind of voyeur?” she accused.  “If you have a camera on you, I swear…”  She trailed off and looked up in horror, apparently remembering the security cameras in the hallways.  “You know you’ll lose your job if any of this hits the internet, right?”

“Calm down, Ms. Ellis.  I saw you wandering the halls and just wanted to see if–”

“So you are a voyeur!”

By now Neal had backed into the file room, so the guard wouldn’t catch him laughing.  Sara was a great con artist.  He picked up the phone and said in a low voice, “You really don’t have anything to worry about.  I didn’t come here alone, and I’m enjoying the fireworks.”

“You brought a date?” Travis asked.

“Mr. Winslow?” said Sara at the same time.  She sounded surprised.  Neal glanced out the doorway.

“It’s all right, Tommy,” said the older man standing behind the guard.  “I’ll get this all settled.  Go on back downstairs, now.”

“Yes, sir,” said the guard gratefully.  He headed back toward the elevators.

“Henry?” said the newcomer.  “What are you doing?”  A ding and the swish of elevator doors meant the guard was no longer in earshot. 

Neal stepped out of the file room to say, “Hi, Pops.”  Then he said into the phone, “It’s fine.  I’m just having a chat with Graham Winslow.”  He ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to readers Gem and Leonore09 on AO3 who provided suggestions for locations in Baltimore. That was incredibly helpful for me in visualizing the settings, and I posted several images to the Disclosure Pinterest board for those who want to see where Neal and Sara were hanging out.
> 
> For those who haven’t read Flashback or don’t remember, Graham Winslow is Henry’s grandfather and Robert’s father. 
> 
> The handcuffs in this chapter are an homage to canon where Sara explains to Peter that Neal teaching her how to pick cuffs was their version of playing Sudoku. 
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her friendship and kindness in helping me get through my second Mother’s Day without Mom. And beyond that, thanks for the edits and for letting me borrow the Travis character, who has proven to be such fun.
> 
> Next week’s chapter continues the adventures in Baltimore, with Peter fretting in New York. Then in the following chapters Neal goes to Atlantic City and Philadelphia. I’m really taking advantage of this AU where Neal doesn’t have an anklet and can travel. Meanwhile in the Queen’s Jewels, Silbrith is exploring how the Neal of this AU would react to wearing an anklet.


	19. Fireworks Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of Neal’s adventures in Baltimore, where he snuck into Win-Win by pretending to be Henry. Sara came along as his cover, pretending to be Henry’s date, but actually acting his guide because she used to work there. The previous chapter ended with them putting on an act to fool the security guard – which included an argument about who was supposed to bring the condoms – interrupted by a warning call from Agent Travis Miller.
> 
> I’ve never had the opportunity to visit Baltimore, so my apologies if I’ve mangled the city’s layout.

**Baltimore Winston-Winslow offices. Sunday afternoon. July 4, 2004.**

“Neal,” said Graham Winslow, former CEO of Win-Win. “I thought it would be you. Nice job tricking the security into believing you were Henry. Are you sure you don’t want to leave the FBI and come work for me?”

Ignoring that suggestion, Neal studied Henry’s grandfather. Despite the warning call from the FBI a few minutes ago, Neal didn’t see any sign the man was armed. “You’re Henry’s accomplice,” Neal said. “When you knew he felt he had to go after Robert, you decided to help him. You’re feeding him data from the Win-Win files.”

Graham gestured toward the hallway. “Let’s go to my office. We’ll be more comfortable there.” At the entrance he frowned. “Henry changed out all the furniture to remind me it isn’t mine anymore.”

“Why did you retire?” Sara asked. “It never seemed like you were ready to let go.”

“I’m getting old.” Graham sat in Henry’s desk chair. “I can’t keep up the pace all day, every day, not without getting tired. Time for fresh blood and fresh ideas. I thought once I cleared out and moved Henry in here, it would be obvious to everyone that he’d be the perfect replacement, once he got a few miles on him.” He shook his head. “I knew Robert wouldn’t be happy, but he’d always claimed that Win-Win was more important than any one person. I thought he’d see Henry’s potential and help groom him for the job. Instead he started a war.”

“And Henry thinks it’s his job to end that war. Why didn’t you stop him?” Neal asked. He picked up the wine bottle and poured a glass for Graham.

“Thanks,” said Graham, taking the glass. “Young whippersnapper wouldn’t be talked out of it. Once I saw I was wasting my breath, I shared some thoughts about how he might get around, such as borrowing boats, and how he might stay in touch.”

“Satellite phone,” Neal said.

“You figured it out, did you? I’d just had the radio installed on my boat, and had the phone handset as part of the trial. Not the sleekest phone, but no one expects an old man to be on top of technology. Folks just assume I’m too set in my ways to stop using a bulky old cell phone.”

Sara was putting away the remnants of the picnic, Neal realized. He hadn’t intended to leave the clean up to her, and he kneeled down beside her. “Let me,” he insisted.

“It’s all finished,” Sara said, handing him the basket. “I’m going to stop by the ladies’ room, and then we can get back to searching if you still think there’s something to find.”

Neal put the basket on Henry’s desk.

“Searching?” Graham asked. “That’s why you were in the file room? I thought you were here to draw me out. What are you searching for?”

“I’m not really sure,” Neal said. “When I was looking for Henry in Vegas, he’d left clues for me.” He remembered what Peter had said. After talking to Henry, Peter was convinced those weren’t clues, but memories and information meant to provide comfort if Henry didn’t survive the final confrontation with Robert. Graham would not react well to that possibility, and Neal considered his words carefully. “When this is all over, if Henry doesn’t come back to Win-Win…”

“Why wouldn’t he come back? This is his legacy!”

“I know, but suppose he decides he can’t accept everything this legacy means. Someone would pack up his stuff, right?”

Graham grumbled but agreed.

“What else, other than what’s in this office?”

“We’d turn his open case files over to others, but he already closed everything or turned it over. We couldn’t leave cases pending when we didn’t know how long he’d be gone.”

“What other steps would you take if his leave became permanent?”

“Update his personnel files,” Graham said.

Sara walked back in and stood next to Neal. She added a much-needed brightness as Neal danced around a dark subject. He clasped her hand. She looked up at him questioningly but didn’t say anything. “Electronic or paper?” Neal asked.

“Both,” Graham said.

“Sara, can you show me where the personnel files are stored?”

“The boy doesn’t have access,” Graham argued. “Only HR and the board members can get inside that room.”

Neal looked at him skeptically. “You told Henry he couldn’t access one room in the office, and expected him to stay out of it?”

Graham stood up. “This way.” He opened the room for them and found Henry’s file. “Shouldn’t be this thick,” he commented. Instead of handing the file over, he paged through the contents. “Most of this is a case file. But not one I’m familiar with.”

“You’re retired,” Sara pointed out.

Graham simply snorted. “I’m supposed to be the boy’s mentor. Any case that went to him or his team, I knew about. Damn, it’s hot in here. Must be getting midafternoon. Sundays and holidays they skimp on the air conditioning.” He checked his watch. “Let’s go. We’ll never get a good parking spot if we wait much longer.” File in hand, he strode out of the file room. “Close the door behind you,” he ordered. “It’ll lock automatically.”

He might claim to be old and tired, but he walked briskly. Neal and Sara hurried after him. “Where are we going?” Sara asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“What’s your part in this?”

“She’s –” Neal started.

“ _She_ can speak for herself. I’m a friend. Neal’s and Henry’s. When I accepted the job at Sterling-Bosch, I had no idea of the trouble that was about to erupt here, and I regret that I left a hole in the team while they were dealing with everything else. I like to think I have more class than that, but I couldn’t think of anything I could do to make up for it, until Neal needed help for his trip here.”

Graham crossed his arms and glared at her. “You think helping someone sneak into my company is classy?”

She took a shaky breath but didn’t back down. “I think it’s at least as classy as sharing confidential company resources to help your grandson with a case he’s officially forbidden to be involved in.”

“I like you,” Graham said. “You’ll do.” Before Sara or Neal could follow up on that comment, he finally answered Sara’s original question. “We’re going to the _Executive Decision_ , of course. Best view of the fireworks is here on the harbor.”

That hadn’t been Neal’s plan, but he was willing to adjust in order to get a glimpse of the file. “You OK with that?” he asked Sara as they stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage.

“I guess I could force myself to take advantage of the city’s best view of the fireworks from a luxury sailboat.”

 

On the drive, Neal felt his phone vibrate and saw a text from Travis:  _Chat over?_

Neal texted back:  _Yeah. Graham is accomplice._

_Of Henry or Robert?_

_Henry._

_Sure?_

_Yeah._

_U trust him?_

_Yeah._

There was a pause, and then Travis texted:  _Need condoms?_

Neal regretted he hadn’t had time to mute his phone when the security guard arrived. FBI agents had long memories and the White Collar team liked to joke around. He glanced at Sara, who was laughing with Graham in the front seat, and texted regretfully: _No. Fireworks are over._

_I’ll tell Peter._

Neal sent: _Thx_. Followed by: _Pls leave out the condoms_.

_What condoms?_

Neal relaxed slightly as he deleted those texts from his phone. He hadn’t worked with Travis much, but he seemed like a decent guy.

Once on the boat, Graham placed the file folder on an interior table and then grabbed Neal’s arm and dragged him away. “We’ll get to that later. First you have to meet the missus.”

That got Neal’s attention. He knew that Graham’s first wife had died when their children were young. He’d remarried after they were grown, and Julia Winslow had a reputation for being elusive. An expert on an obscure branch of mathematics, she’d consulted at Win-Win as the company first moved into data security and they recognized the value of the data they housed for major corporations and government agencies. They’d promised those organizations they’d help organize and mine the data for valuable insights, in return for being allowed access to the data to solve cases. Julia was brought in to help deliver on those promises, and shortly afterward Graham had married her. Some said it was to keep the secrets of Win-Win in the family. From the stories Henry told, Neal had the impression that when Julia wasn’t traveling to conferences to talk about her theories, she burrowed in her home office to work mathematical wizardry.

Neal expected to meet a bespectacled mole-like hermit dressed in earth tones and who barely spoke above a whisper. Instead she was a stylish woman with a crisp English accent who reminded him of Julie Andrews. She welcomed Neal and Sara cordially and then asked, “Were we expecting you?”

“I think we managed to surprise Graham,” Neal said, “but I’m not certain. He’s wily.”

“Indeed he is. You know, he never proposed to me. He simply planned the wedding and I thought I’d have plenty of time to think it over and decide if it was a logical move, but he was vague about the date. Then in June I was at a lovely boutique trying on dresses while he was having his tuxedo fitted. When I found the dress I wanted, he offered his arm and I thought he was leading the way to a larger mirror so we could see how we looked as a couple, and next thing I knew we were walking down an aisle. The boutique was next to a chapel. Most disconcerting. A ceremony, a lovely piece of cake, a dance, and then we were whisked off to our honeymoon before I had a moment to think. He knew I don’t have much patience for those things, particularly for planning them. But it was all taken care of and he was so organized it took my breath away. I do so admire proper organization.”

“You forgot to mention how handsome I was,” Graham added smiling at his wife.

“Well anyone can see that,” Julia said. “I was making a point about your hidden qualities.”

Sara sighed. “You’re in love. And perfect for each other. That seems so rare these days.”

“Not to worry,” said Julia. “You make a lovely couple. Graham approves, and that tells me a great deal.”

“Oh! No,” Sara said immediately. “We’re not a couple. Not really. We’re just friends.” She looked up at Neal for support.

He was surprised at the assumption they were a couple, but he was even more surprised at the sting that accompanied her denial. He managed to keep his face blank.

“Of course, dear,” said Julia before Neal could respond. “No need to rush things.”

“Have you ever been sailing, Neal?” Graham asked. When Neal shook his head, Graham stood. “Let’s show you the ropes while we still have daylight. The missus and I can handle the boat on our own, but it would be good for you to know what’s what in case we need help.”

Neal followed Graham away. He tried to pay attention to Graham’s instructions, and most of it sunk in. Occasionally a breeze would carry Sara’s voice his way, and he strained to pick up a few words, but it was clear Graham intended to distract him. He decided to take advantage of this opportunity to talk him. “I know you think you’re helping Henry, but do you really think it’s a good idea to let him stay isolated?”

“Fewer people who know where he is, the less chance of Robert getting a jump on us. We stay in control.”

“Graham…” Neal trailed off as the older man shook his head.

“You called me _Pops_ before.”

That had been when he was still acting like Henry, but Neal remembered that Graham had invited him to use _Pops_ several months ago. “Pops. I can help keep Henry balanced. I have a fair idea of what he’s planning, and I know how to make sure he doesn’t take too many risks. More than that, I have some improvements on his plan. But as long as you’re both shutting me out, it’s almost impossible for me to do anything. Please, you have to convince him to talk to me.”

Graham corrected Neal’s attempt to tie a proper knot and said, “I’ll do what I can. He’s stubborn as hell, you know.”

“I know,” Neal agreed as he retied the knot. “Are you the one searching the Win-Win data feeds for Henry? I didn’t think you were a data geek.”

“I may have had some help setting them up. The results come to me automatically now. Sometimes Henry asks for new searches, but mostly there’s nothing to do but review the results and pass on whatever seems important.”

Neal studied Graham. “You wouldn’t trust just anyone to know about those searches. Are you involving Julia in this?”

“She likes to help the grandkids. You know she had a hand in teaching Robert and Henry game theory.”

“Don’t change the subject. Does Julia know what Henry is doing?”

“I haven’t told her all of it, but she’s made some frighteningly accurate projections based on the data she’s seen. More and more often she can predict where he’ll show up next. I swear in an earlier century they’d have been terrified at her ability to make forecasts and would have tried to burn her as a witch.”

“But she’d have seen it coming,” Neal said.

“Damn right.”

“Strange how she didn’t realize you were sneaking her into her own wedding. It’s almost like she wanted you to get away with it.”

Graham squeezed Neal’s shoulder. “I knew I liked you. And for all our joking about it, I thank God every day that I have her. A good woman grounds you. Besides that, I never could have handled that NSA data the FBI tossed at Allen Winston on my own. We both sighed a breath of relief when Julia said she could handle it.”

“NSA data?”

Graham shook his head. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. That’s not my secret to share. Ask your Agent Burke to let you in on that one. Fact is, I’m surprised he hasn’t called yet to check up on you. The missus and I may have caused him some worry today while we tried to figure out what you were up to.”

Neal automatically checked his phone. No missed calls, but a worried Peter was a control freak who might decide to order Neal home and ruin his plans for the Masterson con. “Do you mind? I probably should check in and let him know you’re not holding me hostage or anything.”

Graham grinned. The expression accentuated a family resemblance to Henry.

“No,” said Neal. “I’m not putting you on the line to make a ransom demand.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It had gotten blisteringly hot in Brooklyn, and the fans placed around the house were barely keeping the living room cool. Weather aside, it was difficult for Peter to keep his cool when he had no idea what kind of foolhardy scheme Neal was up to in Baltimore. While Jones got Travis to call Neal, Peter had purchased a burner phone they could call him on for updates. A burner phone. The things Neal drove him to.

Travis had called more than an hour ago with the news that Neal claimed to be fine. Travis reported that Neal had identified Graham Winslow as Henry’s accomplice and was meeting with him. He’d also mentioned that Neal wasn’t alone. Peter was glad Neal at least took backup, but was surprised by Travis’ description of Neal’s partner as a “female firecracker.” The first name that came to mind was Noelle. Neal’s aunt lived in Baltimore and she wouldn’t hesitate to give her ex-father-in-law a piece of her mind. But this morning Peter’s brother Joe had called, saying that he was with Noelle in D.C. to meet her parents.

About 30 minutes later, Travis called again to add that he’d texted Neal and got responses that tied back to their phone conversation. That seemed to point to it really being Neal, and again the message had been that he was fine.

Around the same time, using new personal email addresses they’d created, Jones reported in using a code to avoid mentioning names that might be noticed by Win-Win. He indicated that cell phone data showed Neal was with Graham Winslow.

Peter liked Graham. Sure, the guy could be annoying, and at the very least he was probably trying to recruit Neal away from the FBI. He wasn’t a criminal, though. Most likely, the retired CEO was simply trying to help his grandson. But it was important to remember Graham was also Robert Winslow’s father. What kind of loyalty did he feel to his son, even if that son acted in a way Peter could only describe as _evil_? What excuses would he make? What tradeoffs would he justify? Was he playing both sides?

Peter tried to imagine what he’d do if Neal fell back to his old ways. What if something happened to discourage him, like not being able to pay for Columbia? If he got discouraged, threw in the towel and went back to a life of crime, would Peter be tempted to protect him rather than arrest him? He didn’t think so, but he hoped he never had to find out.

El had gone out for ice cream and other cold summer treats while Peter pondered these unpleasant scenarios. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his personal cell phone rang. When he saw the name on the caller ID, his heat-inspired lethargy was forgotten. He sprang to his feet as he answered, ready to run to the rescue if needed. “Neal! What’s going on? Where are you?”

“Everything’s fine, Peter. I’m on the _Executive Decision_ with Graham and Julia Winslow and Sara Ellis. Hopefully I’ve come to an understanding with Graham and he’ll get Henry in touch with me. Meanwhile we’re in the Baltimore Inner Harbor, positioned to watch the fireworks, and I think we’re about to find out what Pops and Julia packed for dinner.”

 _Pops_? That’s what Henry called Graham. Was he impersonating Neal again?

“Peter, you there?”

“Yeah. Remember what Mozzie said when we met him in the park? The _Casablanca_ line?”

“’Vultures everywhere,’” Neal repeated. “What does Ugarte have to do with anything?”

Peter relaxed. “I know you want to believe Graham’s going to help you, but be careful. We haven’t identified Robert’s accomplice.”

“You think he’s playing both roles? What would be the point?”

“He’s a former CEO, Neal. He likes to be in charge. By feeding both of them information he could control how this all ends.”

“If you don’t trust him, why are you giving him access to NSA data?”

Peter drew a sharp breath. It occurred to him that Graham might be in a position to turn Neal against Peter and the FBI. If Neal knew how they’d been tracking him, that could upset him if taken out of context. Hell, even in context he wouldn’t be thrilled about it. “Neal, if he’s telling you about NSA data I have huge reservations about how much he can be trusted.”

“He didn’t tell me anything. He assumed I knew something and when he realized I didn’t he clammed up and said I should ask you about it. He said he may have caused you some worry earlier today and recommended I call to let you know everything’s all right.”

And now Peter had to go from suspecting Graham to being grateful to him. Checking in with family wasn’t second nature to Neal, but as a parent Graham knew what Peter needed. It was especially important to be assured Neal was safe after the worry caused by the delayed notifications of Neal’s presence at Win-Win. It was likely Graham was behind that panic. He must have wanted to talk to Neal before the FBI could intervene. It made Peter wonder whether Neal got more information out of Graham, or vice versa. Both were fierce competitors, and devoted to Henry.

Now that he’d given Neal the fatherly instruction to be careful, it was time to be an FBI agent. “You said Sara Ellis is with you. Didn’t you tell me she used to work at Win-Win?”

“That’s right. She was part of my cover. She’d make a great con artist.”

“I realize you think that’s a compliment. Travis called her a firecracker. Try not to get burnt.” OK, maybe he was still in Dad-mode.

“It might be worth it,” Neal said, and it sounded like he was smiling, but he sounded more serious as he added, “I don’t think it’s going to be an issue.”

Peter had an uncomfortable feeling he should follow up on that, but decided El would do a much better job at it. “You get any leads other than identifying Henry’s accomplice?”

“Maybe. We found a file Henry had hidden in the office. We haven’t looked at it yet,” Neal said before Peter could jump in with more questions. “Graham grabbed it and shepherded us out to the boat, but I’m not leaving before I get a good look at it. Apparently it’s a case file, and…” He trailed off, and in the background Peter could hear a woman calling Neal’s name. “I think I’m about to find out what people eat on sailboats. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Be careful, Neal,” Peter said one more time. “Don’t do anything stupid.” With the call ended, Peter stopped pacing and looked down at Satchmo. “Being a dad is exhausting.”

Satchmo whined.

“Tell me about it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After Graham had taken Neal up to the deck for the lesson on sailing, Sara looked helplessly at Julia. “We aren’t a couple, really.”

“Why not?” asked Julia. “He seems…” She gestured vaguely.

“Hot,” said Sara, thinking back to their elevator ride to the top floor of Win-Win. She still wasn’t certain if she was grateful or disappointed that the building didn’t have more floors. Things had definitely been getting interesting.

Julia cleared her throat. “Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of polite and intelligent and well-regarded by Graham.”

Sara blushed. “I don’t understand that. You said Graham approved. Of us. Us as a couple. But he didn’t say anything. How did you get that impression?”

“One learns a great deal about a spouse over several decades. I’ve learned that when he unexpectedly brings home a couple, it means he’s decided they belong together. His next step is always to make them spend time with us to see a happy marriage.”

“This is all a misunderstanding. Neal isn’t interested in me, not really. It’s just that we were pretending in order to fool the security guard, and Graham caught the tail end of that act. Anyway, I’d be crazy to get involved with Neal. Sure, he’s hot, but he’s also… I mean, he’s… Well, that’s the problem, really. I can’t figure out who he is. He works for the FBI and that sounds kind of exciting but he isn’t really an agent and when we first met I’d have sworn he was an artist. That’s what he plans to study, you know, if he gets into grad school. Being a student, that’s not exactly stable. Neither is being an artist. Sometimes he seems so serious, like when he talks about finding Henry. And the next moment he’s totally frivolous. You should have heard him this afternoon, joking about stealing a masterpiece. And you can’t depend on him.” She stopped, afraid she’d gone too far. She’d felt compelled to explain and clear up the false perception, but it wasn’t like her to share so much with a stranger. And yet, there was something about Julia. Not motherly, exactly. More like a nanny or governess, someone you trusted to look out for you.

“Why do you say you can’t depend on him? Has he ever broken a promise to you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just… Well, he was a runaway. People who run away when things get rough, how can you ever trust them to stay? And here I am, living in a new city, learning a new job. I need stability. I don’t want to get involved with someone like that, where I’m always wondering if he’ll leave if things get rough.”

“It would seem you’re speaking from past experience,” said Julia. “Can you tell me about it? I don’t mean to be nosy, but it might help you to talk through what happened and why it influences your feelings about Neal.”

Sara had gotten used to talking about this at the runaway shelter, but the pain always seemed fresh. “My sister ran away. We never heard from her again, never found out where she went or why. But it’s not just that. Neal’s fun, but he’d be a lot of work. I don’t know if I could handle that right now. Sometimes you want someone who’s already got it all figured out.”

“It sounds as if you’re comparing Neal to someone else.”

Sara nodded. “Bryan. He’s my mentor at Sterling-Bosch. He’s made it clear he’d be interested in a relationship. He’s older, steady, stable. He knows who he is and where he’s going, and I find that very attractive right now.”

Julia studied Sara a moment. “I think you should explore that. Find out if that’s what you need for the moment or forever. You need to know before you can move forward with Neal.” Before Sara could respond Julia stood. “I should start putting dinner together. More of a high tea, in my mind. Finger sandwiches and sweets, but it packs and serves well on the water.”

“Let me help,” Sara said, following her hostess to a compact but extremely well organized kitchen. As they put the finishing touches on the meal she said, “I wish the kitchen in my apartment was this well-designed. I have more space, barely, but it isn’t as functional.”

“Mmm. I designed it.”

“The kitchen?”

“The boat. I love sailing, you see. The current, the wind speed, the size and angle of the sails… Sailing is an ever-changing series of calculations. One can get lost in the symphony of numbers. When I married Graham we decided to buy a new boat and couldn’t find one we liked, so I designed this one and we had it built.”

Looking around in admiration, Sara said, “You could go into business designing boats.”

“Why would I want to design another one? This one meets all my needs. But the manufacturer said the same thing. I sold him the design, and he said it’s quite popular. We negotiated a fee for each boat built to our specifications, and Graham tells me it’s been an excellent investment. He’s very wise, when it comes to investments. And marriages, which could be considered a type of investment in the future. He seems very certain about you and Neal. That’s why I think you should spend some time with this Bryan of yours. Get to know him and yourself while you can. Then in the end you can be certain you know what you’re doing.”

“You can’t seriously believe your husband can predict something like that. He’s a businessman, not a matchmaker.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve attended many weddings that my husband claims credit for.” Suddenly she called out for Neal and Graham to join them. Once they were settled she continued the conversation. “I think Graham’s only failure at predicting a successful marriage was his son Robert and Noelle. Noelle was an excellent choice for Robert, but he was very bad for her.”

“I wish I could convince her to date again,” Graham said. “She’s been alone too long.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Neal said. “If she didn’t lose her nerve, she’s introducing a boyfriend to her parents as we speak.”

“What’s his name?” Graham insisted. “I’m going to run him through a Win-Win security check.”

“No need. I already ran a Bureau background check. He’s clean. And I met him. Henry and I both did. His name is Joe, and he’s an architect from upstate New York. He’s been divorced about as long as Noelle. Two daughters, both in college.”

And there Neal went and sounded all business-like and mature. Like Bryan.

“No red flags?” Graham asked.

Neal glanced oddly at Sara. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

“What?” Sara asked.

“Well, he’s a little younger than she is. About five years I think.”

“Good for her,” Sara said, although she doubted she’d have the courage to do that herself. In college she’d dated someone a year behind her and her friends had given her so much flak for “robbing the cradle” that she vowed never to get involved with someone younger than her again unless she was seriously in love. Had she mentioned that story to Neal? He was still studying her expression warily. “What is it?”

Neal shrugged. “It’s just that you had mentioned you’re turning 26 in September.”

“Ah,” said Julia.

“And?” Sara didn’t see what her birthday had to do with anything.

“Neal’s birthday is March 21. I remember it vividly. In fact, I was there when he was born.”

Neal looked as surprised as Sara felt, and she wondered if this was why she’d been getting a protective vibe from this couple who technically weren’t related to Neal. She temporarily let go of the conversational thread about her age to say, “I thought this was the first time you met.”

“As adults,” Julia clarified.

“We moved away when I was three,” Neal added. He was looking at Julia as if he had a lot of questions.

“Julia,” Graham said in a warning tone. “Maybe we should drop this.”

Sara had a feeling that she was finally nearing information about the troubled past that caused Neal to run away. She had a choice. She could ask where Neal moved and why. But she couldn’t quite let go of the part about her birthday. “Why would it be an issue that Neal’s birthday is in March?”

“Well isn’t it obvious? He won’t turn 26 until March of next year.”

Sara looked at Julia in shock. Then she looked at Neal in horror. “You’re _younger_ than me?”

“Six months. No big deal. I mean, if we were in school together, we’d have been in the same grade, right?”

He was right. Intellectually she knew it. Out loud she agreed with what Neal said. But inside she kept repeating: _Oh. My. God._ And then she’d chide herself. Her reaction was ridiculous. Still, she couldn’t quite get over it, and they were only friends. Clearly this was a sign that she was wise not to let the relationship become romantic. Graham might have an excellent track record with bringing couples together, but he couldn’t always be right. He’d have to find someone else for Neal.

Later that evening, when she was alone with Julia again, she said, “I think you’re right about Bryan.”

“Yes, of course, but do be kind to Neal, dear.”

“I wouldn’t…” Sara started to object, but Julia was shaking her head.

“I think you hurt his feelings when you were so very vehement in denying you’re a couple.”

Sara did feel a moment of unease as she recalled Neal’s blank expression at the time, but she said, “Someone who looks like he does… Well, I’m sure his ego’s in no danger from me.”

“And that, young lady, is why I think you’d benefit from being involved with someone more mature for a time. I can tell you from experience that one sharp criticism can undo the good of a dozen compliments. Take the time you need, but don’t be cruel about it. Now let’s see if it’s time for those fireworks.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It wasn’t until after the fireworks display that Neal finally got his hands on the case file Graham had brought from Win-Win. The others were preparing to return to the dock when Neal slipped away to find the file. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see it contained data about Masterson Music. If anything happened to Henry, he’d want someone to pick up the investigation. Graham would probably be obsessed with solving this last case in Henry’s memory.

He’d barely started reading the file when he realized Julia had followed him. Before he could offer an explanation she said, “If those financial reports are accurate, there’s something very fishy in that company.” Neal gave her his full attention, and she continued, “They have significant offshore operations, but year after year they report no profits from international business. The fact that they don’t close or reorganize their offshore resources is suspicious. It’s a pattern one typically sees when a company is hiding revenue that they don’t want to share with partners or investors.”

Neal nodded. This could be the key to how Masterson got rich and their musical artists stayed poor. “You think there’s accounting fraud?”

“At the very least.”

“What would be the next step to finding out?”

“I’d compare their results to that of other companies in the industry for the same time period. With that additional data I could pinpoint the anomalies and project the tipping point, where the greed of the executives will overcome their ability to hide their more nefarious activities.” Before Neal could ask to keep the file to do that analysis, Julia said, “I’ll send you a breakdown of the numbers. Let’s see, several institutions will be closed Monday. Let’s say Friday for a complete description of my findings.”

“Thank you.” Neal was relieved beyond words to be spared the tedium of running those numbers himself. “That would be a tremendous help.”

“You’ll need to leave the file,” Julia said, and he reluctantly handed it back to her. But he knew of another way she could help him.

“Could you show me the queries you’re running for Henry?” Neal gave her his most charming smile.

She gave him a look that indicated she didn’t fall for his charm, but she nodded. “This way.” In a snug office, she opened a laptop and showed him a query that made him wish he had Jones along to interpret. But then she opened a file. “I suspect these are what you want to see.” It was a list of every name and phone number she was looking for in the Win-Win data feeds. Neal saw names of family and friends, and several of his own aliases. What he didn’t see was Urban Legend or any of its members. Henry must be searching those himself, or relying on Angela, simply hitting publically available sources online. Neal could still disappear by using the Neal Legend alias. It was an incredible relief to know he still had that escape.

“I don’t see anything here about Robert or his accomplice,” Neal said, hoping Julia wouldn’t know he wasn’t supposed to be part of that case. After all, Henry wasn’t supposed to be either, and she was helping him.

“No, those are separate searches set up by Win-Win’s IT department. Graham has access to those results, of course. If he sees anything useful, he lets Henry know.” As Neal was preparing to ask what they’d passed along most recently, Julia shook her head. “Robert knows our methods too well. There has been nothing new since you discovered his secret bank account.”

At least he’d gotten credit for that. He glanced at Julia. “Where do you expect Henry to show up next?”

She frowned. “His movements have grown increasingly erratic. I suspect there’s a new element I’m not aware of that’s influencing where he goes.”

Neal nodded. She didn’t know he was chasing gigs as Shawn Legend. If Julia was puzzled, Robert must be going out of his mind. “Where is he now?”

“He arrived in Philadelphia today.”

That’s where Mozzie had gone, to ask around the Caffrey Caravan for leads. Coincidence? Neal had told Peter that Mozzie was an expert in off-the-grid. Had Mozz decided to contact Henry without letting Neal know about it? “Has he said anything about his plans?”

“He typically spends at least three days in a location before moving on, and this is his first day in Pennsylvania. He hasn’t mentioned where he’ll go next, but my best estimate is that he’ll head north up the coast.”

“If I need to get him a message, is it OK if I call you?” He hoped Graham would convince Henry to call, but it would be good to have another ally. Neal was going to Atlantic City tomorrow, which would put him about an hour’s drive away from Philadelphia. Maybe they could not only talk, but talk in person. That would be the best way to get through to his cousin and change his mind about a few things.

“I don’t get to speak with Henry. Only Graham is in contact with him.”

“Yes, but Graham contacts him when your data shows something Henry needs to know about. There might be data I could add, or context I could provide, that would make Graham more likely to reach out to Henry.”

“There might be opportunities to manipulate the data to achieve what you want. However, I do prefer to keep the data pure. It would need to be for a very good cause.”

“I promise,” Neal said, “I won’t abuse your friendship.” As Julia wrote down her phone number, Neal gave into his curiosity. “I have to ask: What were you doing with my mom in D.C. when I was born?”

Julia handed him the slip of paper with her number. “Oh, but I wasn’t. You were born here.”

“In Baltimore?” Neal had always assumed he’d been born in the city where his parents lived, but he realized he’d never seen his real birth certificate. He wondered if the Marshals would let him see it.

“Yes.”

Neal wanted to ask her more, but Graham called down to them, saying he needed them on deck. He continued the sailing lessons, teaching Neal and Sara how to dock the boat. Graham was an early-to-bed-early-to-rise sort, and was visibly tired once the boat was secured. He and Julia planned to spend the night on the boat, and he said there was space if Neal and Sara wanted to avoid the post-fireworks traffic. But Neal needed to head back to New York, and Sara said she’d go with him. They caught a cab and soon were on a train.

Most of the trip Sara was quiet, and Neal’s head was full of thoughts of what he’d say when Henry finally called. About 30 minutes before they arrived at Penn Station, Neal noticed that Sara had fallen asleep, her head on his shoulder. He liked it, and gathered up his courage. Sara had simply been telling the truth when she said they weren’t a couple. Her reaction had been one of surprise, not revulsion at the idea of being together. Now that she’d had time to think about it, had she reached the same conclusion he had? Graham and Julia were correct; they were good together. Their con for the security guard had been more than acting. Those sparks were real. It was time to admit Kate wasn’t coming back. Sara was special, and he should do something about that before she slipped through his fingers.

He leaned closer and said softly, “We’re nearly there.”

She stretched. As she became aware of her surroundings she gave him a wry smile. “I hope you don’t have any issues with personal space.”

“Nah, you’re good. My shoulder’s yours anytime you want it. When are you going to be at the shelter again?” He thought instead of coffee, maybe this time they could have dinner. Move into date territory.

Sara yawned. “Didn’t I tell you? Sterling-Bosch decided to put me through their advanced training program. It’s a wonderful opportunity. Usually you have to be there at least a year before you’re eligible, but they’re impressed with the skills I brought from Win-Win. Anyway, it’s in Boston. I’ll be there for the next few weeks.”

And she didn’t like long distance relationships. It was a setback, but Neal could wait a few weeks. That would be better, now that he thought about it. By then he’d work something out with Henry, and maybe wrap up the Masterson con. And figure out how to pay for his tuition. Yeah, a few weeks from now would be perfect. “Call me when you get back? I want to hear about your adventures in Boston.”

She agreed, and they parted at the train station. On the way back to the mansion, Neal second-guessed himself. Should he have gone ahead and told her about his wish to take their friendship in a different direction? Should he have kissed her to show her that the attraction between them was more than an act?

Once again, thoughts of Sara were interrupted by the realization that someone was watching June’s mansion. This time it wasn’t Marshal Brandel. It had been a long time, but Neal recognized this guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been fun writing about Neal and Sara getting to know each other, but they’re young and not ready to settle down. In Silbrith’s Woman in Blue you can read about Sara’s return from Boston, when she tells Neal she’s dating Bryan. And in Silbrith’s Queen’s Jewels Neal has a new potential love interest: Fiona. Then things get really fun in the story that will follow Jewels, when we see Fiona encounter Sara and Neal meets Bryan.
> 
> In the next chapter of this story, Peter confronts an exhausted Neal in Atlantic City, and we see the results of Neal pushing himself too hard.


	20. Intervention

**Riverside Drive. Monday morning, barely. July 5, 2004.**

At 1am on a holiday the subway schedule was erratic with maintenance occurring on some of the lines, so Neal paid for a cab ride home. As they pulled in front of the mansion, Neal caught a glimpse of someone familiar in the bushes across the street. He hadn’t seen the guy in years, but this had been his guess of Robert’s accomplice – the one code-named Ferrari – when he’d seen the traffic cam footage of Robert’s escape in Seattle.

It was tempting to give chase, but Neal knew the guy was too far away to catch, especially when Neal was tired from too many late nights. So he paid the cab driver and walked into the mansion, giving no indication he’d seen the man lurking in the shadows.

The good news was that his absence from New York had worked as intended, getting Robert’s attention. Now Robert had to divide his resources between tracking Henry and Neal. The bad news was that Neal’s plan to grab a few hours’ sleep before heading to Atlantic City wasn’t going to be as simple as he thought. He needed to elude Ferrari, making Robert even more worried and paranoid about what he was up to.

Normally he’d call Mozzie for something like this, but Mozz was in Philadelphia following a lead on how Henry was staying hidden. Calling the cops would make Ferrari clear out, but would also tell him that Neal had noticed him. He considered calling Peter, but instead went with the experts in helping people disappear. He called U.S. Marshal Annina Brandel.

“Sorry to call so late,” Neal said when she answered her cell phone, “but I think the guy who hacked into the Marshals’ email, or at least an accomplice of his, is outside my house. He doesn’t know I saw him, and I’d like to keep it that way. Can you arrange a distraction so I can get out of here without him following me?”

“If you think you’re in immediate danger, I need you to call 9-1-1,” she cautioned.

“I don’t think he’s going to do anything but watch me. The problem is that I’m supposed to leave town first thing in the morning, and I don’t want him to figure out where I’m going.”

“Getting out of town is a good idea. The easiest way would be to let him think I’m taking you to the Marshals’ office, and have him follow us. How early in the morning do you need to leave?”

“At the latest, 8:00. I’d rather make it 7:30.” They worked out the details, and Neal packed and got ready to con Ferrari. It didn’t leave a lot of time for sleep.

Promptly at 7:30, Annina arrived in a Marshals’ SUV with two male Marshals. Both men were around Neal’s build, one blond and the other with dark hair. All three Marshals wore sunglasses. They knocked on the door of the mansion and were shown upstairs to Neal’s apartment.

They worked out a script, and recorded Neal saying his part. Then they gave him the jacket and sunglasses of the dark-haired Marshal, who put on one of Neal’s shirts. Then Neal went outside with them, the guy pretending to be him handcuffed and protesting. Fake Neal pressed a button on the recording device when they hit one of his lines in the script, and he mouthed the words to the accompaniment of Neal’s voice.

With fake Neal and the blond Marshal in the backseat of the SUV, Annina turned to real Neal and said, “Keep sweeping his apartment for evidence. I’ll lead the first round of questioning and then come back to see what you found.”

In his best Jersey accent Neal said, “Yeah. We get overtime for this, right? It’s a holiday.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Annina muttered.

Neal went back inside, and June grinned at him from her position behind one of the curtains. “I kept my eye on him. As soon as you went outside, he walked toward a car down the street and got in. He’s following them.”

“You’re the best, June.” Neal took off the sunglasses and jacket. “Are you sure you’re OK with me taking the Jaguar? You said it was Byron’s.”

“Yes, and it hasn’t been driven in months. It needs to be used, and I know Byron would love the idea of you using it for a getaway. Now hurry. Once our lurker is convinced they’re going to the Marshals’ office, he might decide to come back here to wait for your return rather than hanging around a law enforcement office on a holiday. If he has any brains he has to realize how suspicious that would look. Here.” She pressed the car keys into Neal’s hand, and she reached up to kiss his cheek. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in ages.”

Grabbing the duffle bag and guitar case that were already at the base of the stairs, Neal hurried to the garage. The query Julia Winslow had shown him tracked the activity of June Ellington, but no one was tracking her dead husband. Therefore the passage of a car registered to Byron would go unnoticed by Win-Win. The idea of going off the radar was exhilarating, and he enjoyed the drive.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter was at home, eating lunch with Elizabeth, when Jones called. He listened to his agent’s report with increasing gravity, and shook his head after the call ended. He tried calling Neal’s cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail.

“What’s wrong?” El asked him.

“I know we said we’d replace the flooring in the laundry room this afternoon, but what would you think about going to Atlantic City instead?”

Neither of them was a gambler, and El looked at him in surprise at first. She pondered his suggestion before asking, “Is that where Neal is?”

“Yeah, and he might need help.” Catching El’s worried expression he added, “He’s not in any danger, not at the moment. You could call this more of an intervention. I need to put a stop to something before he goes too far.”

“Let me guess. You’re going to drive to Atlantic City, perform this intervention, and then drive right back home to get rested up before heading back to work tomorrow.”

Peter grimaced. “Not exactly how we planned to spend a holiday. We were going to have a movie night, weren’t we? I might make it home in time, if I hurry.”

El kissed him. “I’d rather you drive safe. There will be other movie nights. And I think I’ll skip the road trip.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jones had been able to tell Peter what hotel Nick Halden had checked into. Flashing his badge got Peter a flustered desk clerk who called a manager. The manager took Peter to a small office for privacy. Peter may have implied that Nick had witnessed a crime and the FBI had additional questions for him, of a very urgent nature.

“He’s not answering his phone,” Peter had explained. “We’re concerned the mob, that is, um, the suspect may have gotten to him.”

The manager told Peter the room number and then left a moment to get a keycard. He gave it to Peter along with his business card. “Please call my direct line if Mr. Halden is hurt, and I’ll escort the paramedics to the room if needed. Or if he’s all right but the room has been trashed, I’ll send a cleaning crew.”

“There’s probably nothing to worry about,” Peter said. “He’s probably just paranoid about answering calls from a number he doesn’t recognize, but I need to be sure.”

“I understand. I do hope you find Mr. Halden in good health. It would be a shame if he missed the final round of the tournament.”

“Tournament?” Peter repeated.

“Yes, there’s a poker tournament today, and Mr. Halden competed successfully in the initial rounds. He secured a spot in this evening’s finals. He’s a member of our Platinum Winner’s Circle, but hasn’t stayed here in a while. We were pleased to see him return.”

That’s why Neal took the Nick Halden ID. Being in the Platinum Winner’s Circle brought some perks, Peter concluded on the long elevator ride. He was sure Neal wouldn’t spring for one of the top floor luxury suites right now when he was trying to save for grad school, but the casino would upgrade a room to encourage heavy gamblers to stay longer.

Peter knocked on the door and called Neal’s name, but didn’t wait for an answer. He used the cardkey to enter, closing the door behind him as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. The blackout curtains were closed, but as Peter flipped on a light switch he doubted the curtains were needed today. Neal must have been exhausted. He’d slipped off his suit jacket, tie, shoes and belt, and his wallet was on the bedside table. He was asleep on top of the covers, still wearing suit pants and a dress shirt, as if he’d intended merely to close his eyes a moment. Peter picked up the suit jacket and immediately smelled cigarette smoke, confirming that Neal had spent a few hours in a casino recently.

A clean suit and some casual clothes were hanging in the closet. There was a duffle bag that was empty except for a box of makeup. Not the kind El had at home, but the stuff professionals used for theater or modeling – you picked up some interesting bits of knowledge in this job – and he guessed con artists might use it to change their look. “What are you doing, Neal?” Peter asked. The kid stirred but didn’t wake. “Trying to make the other players believe you’re more alert? Or maybe convince them that you’re not well, so they underestimate you?”

Neal rolled over and mumbled, “Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell Henry. He needs to hear it.”

“Hear what?” But Neal didn’t answer. He must be dreaming. Peter paused a moment to consider that fact that he was in Neal’s dream. Was it a good sign?

He shrugged and continued his search. There was also a guitar case in the closet. Odd choice to bring along, but maybe Neal was practicing as part of his desire to connect more with the music-loving Caffreys. Neal’s phone was beside his wallet. He must have set it to silent mode when he’d been playing poker. The display showed three missed calls, corresponding to the number of times Peter had tried calling.

What worried Peter most was what he found in Neal’s wallet: A lot of cash. Thousands of dollars in crisp hundreds.

“Neal, what the hell?” He grabbed the kid’s shoulder and shook him awake.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter’s voice made Neal smile. He liked this dream. It was the one where Peter said, “Attaboy,” and told him what a good job he was doing. Sometimes Peter added that recruiting Neal was the best decision of his career.

This time was different, though, because Neal had been talking to Henry when Peter showed up. Henry was having a rough time these days. He needed praise from a father figure even more than Neal did. “Tell Henry,” he requested. “He needs to hear it.” Then he wandered off, leaving Henry in good hands.

But suddenly Peter was saying, “Neal, what the hell?” That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Why was this dream going off track?

“Mmmph,” said Neal as he felt someone shaking his shoulder. He turned his face into the pillow and clutched it tightly, not wanting to wake up. He was so tired. It seemed like he rarely got time for more than a few hours’ sleep these days. Between work and looking for Henry and being Neal Legend, there weren’t enough hours in the day to do everything. Now he was trying to earn the money he needed for his tuition, too. Was it too much to ask for a little more sleep?

He moaned as someone opened the curtains and sunlight filled the room.

“What happened to your hair?” Peter asked.

Neal moaned again and then sat up. Sara had told him most of the highlights would wash out. Since he was appearing as Shawn Legend tonight, he’d decided to leave them in for another day. And he was still slightly concerned that his hair would turn green or fall out when the chemicals in the dye interacted with soap. “Sara happened. Said it would make me look like Henry when I was impersonating him at Win-Win.” Neal rubbed his face, then blinked and looked at Peter. “I thought this was a dream. What are you doing here?”

Peter pulled up a chair to sit across from Neal. “I noticed you took the Nick Halden ID, and had Jones watching for activity for that alias. He called me when you checked into this hotel.”

“Showing up here seems…” Neal cleared his throat, troubled that he was so tired he couldn’t think of a snappy comeback. “Well, it’s a little extreme, isn’t it? Why not call me if you wanted to talk?”

“I tried.” Peter handed Neal the phone.

Neal’s eyes widened at the missed calls. He’d put the phone on silent when he’d joined the poker game and forgot to turn the sound back on. And he’d failed to check for calls or messages before he fell asleep. What if Henry finally called and he missed it? He scrolled through the call log, and saw they were all from Peter. He still didn’t understand what Peter was doing here. “What couldn’t wait till I get back to work on Wednesday?”

“Jones has also been looking into your movements in Las Vegas, part of a test of using Win-Win data to help with future cases. They provide security services for several of the resorts you visited. He saw you spent a lot of time in the casinos, gambling.”

He found it disturbing to think of being monitored that closely, but would save that argument for when he had more energy. “So?”

“And now you’re here, using an alias that’s for a known gambler, and you’re playing poker. You’ve got a few thousand in crisp bills that look like they came from a casino teller.”

Neal nodded. That was all true. He’d known Peter wouldn’t be thrilled about the gambling, but he still didn’t understand why he’d driven all the way from New York. He yawned and wished he’d caught a few more hours of sleep in the last couple of days. He simply wasn’t up to sparring with Peter. “You’d be happy if the cash was crumpled? Spell it out, Peter. You didn’t know about the money when you decided to come here. What’s the real problem?”

“Remember on the way to the airport, when you were going to Austin, you told me your greatest fear when you were drugged was that you’d become addicted?”

Neal nodded.

“You were worried, since your mom is an alcoholic, that you might be predisposed to become addicted, if you ever tried drugs. It’s a valid concern. But there are other types of addiction. Neal, I’m worried you have a gambling addiction. Why else would you spend so much time in the casinos instead of looking for Henry? You’ve been so obsessed with finding him, what would keep you away from that other than an addiction?”

Neal opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it again and thought. He’d know if he had an addiction, wouldn’t he? Did he feel compelled to gamble? No. Did he like gambling? It was OK once in a while, but given a choice he’d rather be creating art. If he decided he’d never gamble again after he could pay his tuition, would he go into withdrawal? No. Oh, right, tuition. “Peter, you don’t understand. In Vegas, I _was_ looking for Henry. I thought he might be getting cash to subsidize his travels by gambling, so I was impersonating him and seeing if the dealers seemed to recognize me. I didn’t mention what I was doing because you said you didn’t want me hanging out in casinos on workdays. I had some wins, and that gave me an idea of how I might pay for Columbia.”

Peter held the cash in his fist. “This is how you’re going to pay your tuition?”

Isn’t that what he’d just said? “Yeah.”

“Do you want to get arrested?”

“But it’s legal!”

“Oh. So you didn’t use any sleight of hand to manipulate the game?”

It had been tempting, but Neal hadn’t wanted to risk it. He’d be barred from playing if he got caught. He was a good enough poker player to win without cheating, even if it did take longer that way. “No, I didn’t.”

“And you’re going to report these winnings and pay taxes on them, right?”

Neal stood up, walked to the bathroom sink and washed his face. He hadn’t thought about that part. Nick Halden wasn’t a real person. He didn’t pay taxes. He did tip the dealers, and pay for the hotel room. Those took a chunk out of his winnings. Taxes would take much more. How was he ever going to win enough?

He returned to sit on the edge of the bed again. “This was my last shot, Peter. I don’t know how else to get the money for tuition. Not legally.”

To Neal’s surprise, Peter’s response was, “What did you have for lunch?”

Neal glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 3:30pm. He’d qualified for the finals around 2:00, had come up to his room intending to order something from room service, and had fallen asleep instead. “Nothing.”

“Breakfast?”

Neal shook his head. He’d been too busy eluding Ferrari to worry about food this morning.

“You look even more tired than when you fell asleep in my car Thursday. Let’s deal with the small stuff first. We’ll get you food and sleep, and then maybe the big things won’t look quite as insurmountable.” Peter led the way down to a hotel restaurant, and Neal followed, grateful not to have to think for a little while. Once they placed their orders Peter asked, “How’d you manage to win, playing this tired?”

There’d been a rush of adrenaline at first, the thrill of driving the Jag followed by a competitive spirit that kicked in and carried him through the first hands, but after that… “I played more conservatively as I went, no big risks, and I barely made it into the finals. But I got in, and that’s all that matters. It was less about strategy with the cards and more about reading the other players.” He took a sip of the wine he’d automatically ordered when Peter ordered a beer, and quickly set the glass down, pushing it away. “I shouldn’t be drinking.” It was hard enough to focus right now.

“You’re actually planning to go into the final rounds of competitive poker knowing you’re so out of it that a glass of wine could make the difference between winning and losing?”

Neal frowned. It went against his nature to admit he couldn’t do something. He needed to play this last round and to win big. There was no other choice. Thanks to his time in Europe followed by meeting Mozzie in New York, he’d gotten used to wine with his meals; it didn’t affect him very much. So there was no danger in drinking now. In the back of his mind he was sure there was a flaw in his argument, but he couldn’t quite find it. He pulled the wine back toward him and drank more. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.”

Their food arrived, and as Neal ate he couldn’t quite decide if he should tell Peter about seeing someone who might be Ferrari this morning. He thought Peter would want to know. But he also thought Henry would not want Peter to know. He couldn’t quite figure out who should win. He could ask Peter’s advice, but that wouldn’t be fair without Henry here to argue his side. He looked at his phone again, puzzled. “Henry hasn’t called yet. Graham was supposed to make him call.”

“I don’t think Henry’s any better at taking orders than you are.”

That was certainly true. Neal took another sip of the wine and then looked carefully at the glass. It was fuller than the last time he’d looked at it. Had the waitress refilled it? How much had he had? He grinned. “Peter, are you trying to get me drunk? What would El say?”

“Probably something like Neal Caffrey can’t be drunk on a glass of wine unless he’s already seriously impaired. Like, I don’t know, running on fumes, maybe?”

Neal was certain it had been more than one glass, but El was right. Or Peter quoting El was right. A little wine wouldn’t impact him. Because no matter what Peter implied, he was fine. Perfectly capable of winning the tournament this evening and then performing as Shawn Legend later tonight. He’d been fine in Miami and Atlanta, fine in Baltimore with the Winslows and Sara. It was just one more evening to get through, and then he could crash.

Back up in his room, Neal walked to the coffee maker and braced himself. Instant coffee was awful compared to what he’d gotten used to at June’s mansion, but the important thing now was caffeine.

Peter gently pulled Neal’s hand away from the basket filled with packets of coffee and tea. “What time does the tournament start up again?”

“Um. 6:30? Yeah. 6:30.”

“It’s 4:30 now. You have time to sleep.”

Neal nodded. He could practically hear the bed calling to him. “Gotta get up by 6:00.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the clock,” Peter promised.

Unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward the bed, Neal paused. “You’re not gonna hang out here and watch me sleep, are you? That sounds kinda creepy.”

“I’m going back downstairs. I’ll give El a call, pick up a newspaper, do the crossword. I can give you some privacy for a while and get back here at 6:00.”

“Yeah, that works.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Heading back down to the lobby allowed Peter to give Neal privacy, but it wasn’t conducive to calling Elizabeth. Peter didn’t visit casinos often, and he’d forgotten how noisy these places were. He walked toward the front desk, and caught the eye of the manager.

“Did you find Mr. Halden?” the manager asked.

Peter nodded. “No paramedics needed. I’m giving him a break from my questions. Is there a quiet spot where I can make some calls?”

The manager offered the use of his office. Peter checked in with Jones to let him know everything was under control. Then he called El. “I swear the kid doesn’t know when to stop,” he complained. “He’s as tired as he was back in April when he was studying for the Columbia entrance exams. You’d think he’d learn not to push himself like that.”

“Mmm.”

“You disagree?”

“I think you push yourself nearly as hard when a case is coming together. And for Neal, it’s personal. If it were Joe missing, or me –”

“God, El, don’t say that,” Peter insisted.

“I’m just saying it’s easy to see a person is pushing too hard when it’s someone else. If you’re going to be a father figure, you need to think about the example you’re setting, and not give mixed signals. When you admire his work ethic, also remind him there’s more to life than work.”

“You think… He believes I expect him to push himself to the limit?”

“I don’t know, hon. I’m not there in the office with you every day. But you do work a lot of long hours.”

That gave Peter something to think about, and it kept distracting him when he returned to the lobby to work a crossword puzzle.

At 6:00 he returned to Neal’s room. Neal was asleep, burrowed under the covers this time. In the dim light, it was easy to envision him as one of the younger versions of himself that had appeared in Peter’s dream Friday night. No matter how clever he was or how experienced Neal was at taking care of himself, right now he looked young and vulnerable, in need of someone to protect and guide him.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal stretched and yawned. It was amazing how much difference an hour or so of sleep could make. He felt much more awake now, and ready to wipe out the competition in the final round of the poker tournament. He sat up and glanced at the clock.

8:19.

“What the hell?” Neal pushed the blankets away and stood up.

A light came on. Neal realized there had been a reading light on at the desk all along, and now an overhead light illuminated the room. Neal blinked a moment and focused on Peter.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

He half expected Peter to say he’d tried and that Neal had been too deeply asleep. Already he was realizing that, compared to how he felt now, he’d been running on empty. But Peter said, “You needed to sleep. You weren’t in any shape to play poker. Or at least, not to win. If you’d gone to that tournament you wouldn’t have won anything, and you’d have lost the money you went in with.”

Neal stared at him. “You decided to let me sleep through the tournament?”

“Yeah. I’m well aware that there are always more games, and more tournaments. You can come back here again next weekend and there’s nothing I can do about it. But at least today sanity prevailed.”

Pacing the room, Neal ran his hands through his hair. “No, I can’t come back here. Not anymore. I blew off a major tournament. I’ll be blacklisted now. The other casinos around here will probably get word of it, too. I’m officially persona non grata in Atlantic City.”

“Maybe not. I told the manager you were a witness to a major crime and that I needed to question you. When I decided not to wake you up, I called him and said it wasn’t safe for you to go out in public yet.”

“And you think that’s an improvement? You made them think I’m hiding out from mobsters… I won’t even be able to get a room here now, much less play poker.”

Peter stood up. “If that’s true, then I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tie your hands to that extent. But I have to say I’m glad that you have to look at other options. Gambling can easily lead to illegal paths, especially if you lose and start owing people. No one wins forever, Neal. At some point you’ll lose and have to face the music. Besides all that, a gambling habit won’t look good on your record at the Bureau.”

The fact that Peter was at least partially right only fed Neal’s annoyance. “I can’t believe you did this to me.”

“You needed someone to intervene.”

“You call what you did an intervention? That’s supposed to involve talking to me, explaining the issues you see and trying to convince me to make a change. You didn’t do that. You swept in and took over. You decided I shouldn’t compete in the tournament tonight, and so you took away my choice.”

“It was for your own good, Neal. You weren’t making rational decisions.”

“Damn it, Peter! I know you think of me as a son, but I’m not a child.”

“I know that.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” He stopped pacing. “You need to go. Now.”

Peter took a deep breath, and looked like he wanted to argue. But he closed his eyes a moment instead. “I’m sorry. I’ll get out of your way. When you calm down and get back to the office, we’ll talk this through. You made some good points, and I’ll try to look at things from your perspective. Just… don’t take any stupid risks to spite me, OK? Take care of yourself.”

Neal nodded. He was still almost shaking with a mix of strong emotions, and thought it best not to say something he might regret later.

At the door, Peter paused. “You’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself to pay for Columbia right away. You should check with them to see if you could get a deferral. If you can wait a year to start your classes, more options might open up for you. It doesn’t have to be a now-or-never kind of thing.” Then he left.

For a couple of minutes, Neal stood frozen in place. Gradually his heart rate calmed and he was breathing more slowly. He had a lot of emotions to work through, but he put them aside for now. He’d never been more grateful to be able to transform himself into one of the Legend brothers. He put in the hazel contacts, put on the makeup he’d purchased from Bess, and became Shawn Legend. He went on stage at 10:00pm and poured a vast amount of angst into a performance that was described as “electrifying” in the media the next day. His rendition of “Carry On Wayward Son” was particularly praised.

Back at his hotel room, drained of the most volatile emotions through his performance, Neal tried to sort through how he felt. He was still angry at Peter’s high-handed approach. He was scared that he’d never figure out a way to pay for Columbia, at least not a way that Peter would approve of. He was grateful that Peter took the time to offer a measure of hope instead of just storming out. He felt guilty for taking out his anger on Peter when at least some of that anger was at himself for being stupid. He felt lucky to have someone who cared enough to intervene when he was being irrational, however awkwardly Peter might have approached it. He worried that Peter might give up on him as too much trouble. Over all of that was another layer of anger that Henry still hadn’t gotten in touch.

Tuesday morning he called Mozzie and learned that he had spoken to Henry on Monday.

“How did you find him?”

“You’d pointed out comments posted on the Urban Legend site that sounded like they came from Henry,” Mozzie reminded him. “I made replies intended to provoke a response and traced his IP address; then I kept redirecting his browser to a private chat room and wouldn’t relent until he answered my questions. I convinced him to agree to a meet, outside of New York. When you and the Suit approached me about infiltrating the Caffrey Caravan in Philly, it was the perfect opportunity.”

“And you didn’t pull me in?” Neal asked. _Et tu, Brute?_

“He’s skittish,” Mozzie said. “Insisted neither you nor his mother be informed. But I won him over to the idea of me officially acting as Urban Legend’s agent when he saw the gigs I could arrange, especially when I pointed out the risk of both of you performing as Shawn at the same time if I don’t coordinate all the bookings. Think about it, Neal. If he lets me arrange his performances, then we know where he’s going to be.”

That was a win, but it stung that Henry would talk to Mozzie and not to him.

Something Peter had said yesterday stuck with Neal. It gave him an unorthodox idea that might finally convince Henry to talk to him. And the promise of seriously annoying Peter was further motivation. On Wednesday he’d go back to work and be reasonable. But first he’d get a little payback. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about Neal’s Columbia entrance exams is told in a fun short story by Silbrith called “Complications.” My thanks to beta Silbrith in this chapter for the suggestion to have Neal perform before he tries to sort through his emotions. I think it worked much better that way.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading! I do appreciate the comments and questions, especially as you’re heading into vacations and summer plans. In next week’s chapter, Neal finally talks to Henry and Peter asks his brother Joe for advice. In the chapter after that, a more awake Neal gets an explanation from Peter about the tracking that’s been going on.


	21. Arrested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were diverse and passionate opinions about Peter’s actions in the last chapter. Remember he’s younger in this AU and new to the management role. I envision him as being more prone to mistakes due to his inexperience, but also more open to learning from his mistakes. Early in the story he was accused of treating Neal differently – of giving him preferential treatment. Now we’ve seen the other side of the coin, where Peter’s personal feelings made life more difficult for Neal. Peter has been angsting for several chapters over how much he can justify using his work resources to soothe his worries about Neal. Yes, he crossed a line and that resulted in his first major screw up as a dad. What’s important now is how he deals with it. You’ll see that unfold in two parts. In this chapter he seeks advice. In the next chapter, he opens a conversation with Neal; they can’t resolve everything in one discussion, but they can make a good start.

**Philadelphia. Tuesday morning. July 6, 2004.**

In the morning Neal drove Byron’s Jaguar to Philadelphia and went to the public library, where he researched the police departments and crime blotters of the surrounding communities until he found the trend he was looking for. He drove to his targeted area and selected a hotel that wasn’t too expensive but where he thought the Jag wouldn’t be bothered. After getting a room he called Julia Winslow, confirming that Henry was still in town. “In the next few hours you’ll see something surprising in your data feeds. I need Graham to call Henry about it right away. I’m pretty sure he would anyway, but can you watch for it and make sure he sees it as soon as possible?”

Once Julia agreed, Neal prepared to put his plan into action. He locked his wallet and cell phone in the room safe, keeping only a small amount of cash on him, and no ID. Then he had a quick lunch before carrying his guitar to a busy street corner. He sat on the ground, with his fedora upside down beside him. He’d placed a dollar bill in the hat to make it obvious it was meant for money, and collected nearly a hundred bucks before a policewoman arrested him for busking, interrupting his rendition of “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”

_“Do you want to get arrested?”_ Peter had asked him yesterday. Neal had kept thinking about that question, and he’d decided the answer was: _Yes_.

Peter would not be happy about the arrest, and that was a bonus, but the true goal here was to make a bold move to get Henry’s attention. To avoid getting the FBI’s immediate attention and causing Peter to interfere, he told the police that his name was Henry Winslow.

It was a small suburb. They didn’t have a full-time person trained to take fingerprints and his crime was too minor to send him to Philadelphia, so they put him in holding without running his prints. An hour later he had a visitor. He was shown to a waiting room by an officer who said, “You’re both named Henry Winslow? That’s weird, man.”

Neal shrugged. “Cousins. Both named for the same guy. Big feud between our parents because our dads each wanted to use the name.”

In the waiting room, Henry held Neal’s guitar and hat. “They won’t file any charges if you surrender the money you collected,” he said.

“Fair enough.” Neal took back his things and within minutes had completed the paperwork that officially freed him. He followed Henry down a hallway to a parking lot. Once they were outside Neal asked, “You gonna run away again, or are we finally gonna talk?”

Henry unlocked the door of a rust bucket of a car. Maybe 20 years old. How long had it been since Nissan used the name Datsun? “Let’s get away from the police surveillance cameras first.” He got into the driver’s seat and reached over to unlock the passenger door.

Neal put the guitar in the back seat and slid inside. “Where’d you get the car?”

“Mozzie. He put me in contact with some Caffreys at a local craft fair. I borrowed it.” His voice was brusque, as if he resented having to talk to Neal.

Neal gave directions to his hotel, watching Henry with a mixture of elation at finally getting him to appear and trepidation at his cousin’s obvious dark mood. It was a short drive, so he waited to start talking until they were at the hotel.

Inside the hotel room, he flipped the lock and then Neal asked, “Why have you been avoiding me?” But he’d barely finished the question before an incensed Henry turned on him.

“What the hell were you thinking? Getting arrested, while using my name? The last couple months I’ve been doing everything I can to keep Dad focused on me so he won’t go after you or Mom. And you blow it all! Tomorrow he’ll be here and find out it was you masquerading as me. He’ll think it’s Las Vegas all over again. And if he can’t find me, he’ll decide to head to New York and take his anger out on you.”

“Then we know where he’ll be, and we sic the FBI on him. Sounds like we can finally arrest him, thanks to my plan.”

“Your plan to get yourself killed!”

“At least I have a plan with a chance of success. You’ve been out running around for a couple of months now and what do you have to show for it?”

Henry lunged at Neal and pinned him against the wall. “I’ve kept you safe. All of you. Why can’t you stay out of my way and appreciate it, instead of bumbling into the middle of things?”

It was difficult to talk with Henry’s arm across his throat but Neal said, “You think you’re protecting us. But you’re hurting us.” Usually the pain was emotional, but right at the moment Henry seemed on the verge of doing physical harm. It was tempting to shove Henry away, but Neal knew he needed to de-escalate the situation instead. “You’re shutting me out.”

With a sound of pure frustration, Henry backed off and turned away. “You’re driving me nuts here, Neal. Can’t you just stay out of it?”

“Not while you’re driving me nuts worrying about you. I can help, you know. I have a solution, if you’d just listen for once.”

Henry narrowed his eyes and paced the room. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.” Neal sank into a chair, reflecting on a scene that had flashed through his mind moments ago when he’d been tempted to start a shoving match. Not a memory, but a realization of what might have been. If the two of them had grown up together, he could picture them as young teens, getting on each other’s nerves and getting into a fight, rolling on the ground trying to hit each other until their parents separated them. But they’d skipped that phase and had to act like adults now, even if each of them was itching to take a swing at the other for being stupid and annoying.

That flash of a possible past led to one of a possible future, where they were so mad at each other that even after stopping Robert, they avoided each other and rarely spoke for years. No way was Neal letting that happen.

The first step was calming down, keeping both of them from saying things they would regret. That meant temporarily changing the subject.

“Columbia accepted me.”

Henry stopped pacing and stared at Neal.

“You don’t have to look so shocked.”

“I’m not. I’m…” Henry shook his head as if too clear it. “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

“I wanted you to be one of the first to know, but it’s been nearly impossible to reach you. I’ve told Peter and El. Then I told your mom since it had been her idea to apply, and she told Angela and our grandparents.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Henry’s face. “Dor and Dressa must be thrilled. I remember how excited they were when I was accepted.”

It was Neal’s turn to look surprised. “But you went to UT.”

“Yeah. I needed to get away, further away than New York. It worked for a while. Until I was 20 I thought I was safe.”

“Listen, I know you asked me to keep that stuff a secret, but I think it’s tied to how Robert is staying informed and tracking you. If I could tell Peter –”

“No!” Henry snapped.

“OK,” said Neal in a tone he might use to soothe a wild animal. “There are other ways.”

Henry took a deep breath, appearing determined to calm down and meet Neal halfway in this attempt to have a normal conversation. He sat on the edge of the bed, across from Neal, and took a long look at his cousin. “What the hell happened to your hair?”

Neal explained what Sara had done and added, “You should have seen it on Sunday. It’s actually faded a lot since then.”

A smile flitted across Henry’s face again. “So you and Sara. I was right. I knew I should get the two of you together. Sending you both to volunteer at the same runaway shelter was a stroke of genius.” The smile returned to stay. “Oh yeah, look at you, man. You got it bad. I totally rock.”

“She is pretty amazing, but I don’t think you can take credit for that.” Neal realized he was grinning and stopped as he moved toward a more serious subject. “You’re juggling a lot of stuff right now. Tracking Robert while evading him. Keeping him away from everyone else. The Masterson con. You aren’t… You aren’t using, are you?”

“Do I look like I’m using?”

Neal had been looking for signs of drug use, but hadn’t seen any. “Not right now, but I need to know how desperate you are.”

Henry looked away and took a ragged breath. “It’s been tempting, the last week especially. This game of cat and mouse with Robert is so evenly matched. I need to get an edge somehow.” He met Neal’s eyes. “Each time I wanted to track a dealer down, I’d hear your voice, that angry teen telling me drugs were a deal breaker.”

“They are.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I still don’t want to disappoint you, because I couldn’t go through with it.”

Taking a small step toward what he really wanted to discuss, Neal said, “Vegas was the first time I performed with Angela on stage. She’s better than either of us.”

“Yeah.”

“She wants it more than we do.” Neal watched realization dawn on Henry’s face and added, “She could go pro, if we don’t ruin her chances.”

“The Masterson con,” Henry said. “She agreed to it. She wanted to help.”

“And if it goes south it could mean the end of any career in music.”

“And if it succeeds it could give her a massive boost. We have to get this right.”

“I’ve been working on that. Mozz has done amazing things with the website and our online presence. He’s manipulating fan and industry forums like a master, and he’s receiving a lot of requests for appearances. We’re getting close to what you wanted in a fraction of the time you expected. We could wrap this up in time for Angela to start classes in the fall.”

“And you,” Henry pointed out. “You’ll want to focus on school, too.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What is it?”

Why did Henry have to be so damned perceptive? “It’s expensive. I took the entrance exams too late to be eligible for a scholarship, and I don’t have enough work history to qualify for a loan. The chances I can afford to go this year are moving backward from slim to none.”

Henry frowned over this new puzzle. “There must be a way.”

“One challenge at a time. First we wrap up the Masterson con. Then we deal with Robert. College comes after that.”

“You mean put Robert on hold when things heat up with Masterson?”

“If Masterson offers Urban Legend a contract, we won’t have a lot of time inside their company to get the evidence we need. They’ll want us to move on to recording and performing rather than hanging around their office. We can’t be distracted by Robert.” He pinned Henry with a grave gaze he’d learned from Peter. “I know how to slip information to his accomplice. With your help and Mozzie’s, I’m sending Robert to Alaska.”

“How?”

“We’ll put word out that you’re going to Seattle. We’ll plant clues there that take him to a charter plane outfit, make him think you’ve gone to a small town in Alaska.”

“Why would I go to Alaska?” Henry protested.

“That’s exactly what Robert will be asking himself. There aren’t direct commercial flights to this town. His options are to fly into Fairbanks and drive three days, or charter a flight from Seattle. If he decides on the first option, we’ve got him out of the way at least seven days. There’s six days of driving round trip, and a day or more spent in the town looking for you. Plus the flights to and from Fairbanks eat up a lot of time. And that’s assuming he manages to elude the FBI. Our chances of catching him are high because the Bureau can monitor the flights.”

“Making it more likely he’d charter a flight, because he knows the Bureau and Win-Win are watching the data from the major airlines.”

“If he takes the charter, we hit the jackpot. A former colleague of Mozzie’s who’s gone mostly straight contracts as a pilot there. He’ll take the assignment to fly Robert to Alaska. Robert doesn’t know anything about planes, right?”

Henry nodded.

“The pilot will pretend there’s a mechanical issue, and he’ll take the plane down, making an emergency landing on a small island he knows. The only way in and out is by floatplane or boat. There’s no cell reception, and he’ll claim the plane’s radio was damaged so they can barely get out a distress call and can’t get messages from Robert’s accomplice. The Coast Guard will be dispatched to rescue them, but it takes several days to sail out there to pick them up, and then they have to sail back. They could easily be gone two weeks. More if there’s bad weather.”

“And Robert will be too seasick on the boat to make trouble.”

“We can wrap up the Masterson con and then be on hand when Robert lands to apprehend him.”

“This pilot friend is willing to sacrifice his plane? You said only floatplanes can leave the island.”

“His insurance will cover most of the loss. For the reward money Win-Win is offering to catch Robert, it’s worth it.”

Henry looked sharply at Neal. “But you should get a share of it. It could pay for a big chunk of your tuition.”

“We have to promise the pilot the full amount. Anyway, FBI employees aren’t allowed to collect rewards for apprehending criminals.”

“That sucks,” Henry said.

“Forget about the money for a minute. Can you admit that my plan will work?”

Henry nodded reluctantly. “Still feels weird though, to be following your lead.”

“It’s my turn to be the big brother and come to the rescue. I like it. Maybe being the hero suits me.”

“You can have a turn, but don’t think I’m giving up the big brother role. I’m too used to it. I considered looking after you to be my job for a long time. I can’t just shut that off.”

“As long as I don’t have to be the victim. I had enough of that as a kid. How about we try being partners from here on?” Neal suggested.

“We’ll see.”

It was less than Neal wanted, but as much of a concession as he expected to get at this stage. Once he finished showing Henry how capable he was, he’d push for more. “You really think Robert will come here? We could set a trap and finally capture him.”

“As fast as I got there to arrange your release, probably not. It wouldn’t occur to him that one of us would get arrested on purpose, and that means he’ll assume we’re in a panic and we’ll clear out as soon as possible. Wait. You didn’t reserve this room under my name, did you?”

“I used Neal Legend. The Bureau’s checking on my known aliases on this trip, and I wanted to slip the leash for this.”

“You’re feeling chained? That doesn’t bode well.”

Having gotten a full eight hours sleep last night for the first time in too long, Neal had started to think much more clearly about what Peter had said in Atlantic City, not to mention what he’d learned in Baltimore. It all pointed to Peter using the Bureau’s resources to track Neal much more closely than felt comfortable. “I’ll deal with that when I’m back in New York.” Not wanting Henry to dwell on the subject, Neal brought up something else. “Why didn’t you tell me I was born in Baltimore?”

“Because you weren’t? Why would you have been born in Baltimore? Your parents lived in D.C.”

“Julia said it was Baltimore. She said she was there when I was born.”

Henry frowned. “She wouldn’t be mistaken about something like that. What would your mom have been doing in Baltimore? Seems like she’d want to stay home when she was reaching her due date, be near her doctor.” He paused. “I’ll ask Mom.”

“You finally going to talk to her?”

“Yeah. I need to apologize for not letting her know I was leaving, and not getting in touch to let her know I’m OK. It didn’t seem like such a big deal at the time, especially since I didn’t let myself think about anything but Robert and Masterson. But if I drove you crazy enough to get yourself arrested, I hate to think what she’s gone through.”

“Will it be safe?”

“Pops can arrange a meeting someplace without Robert finding out.”

“You wanna return that piece-of-shit car and come up to New York with me? We could tell Peter about our plan to send Robert to Alaska.”

Henry became very still. “Don’t tell him about it. Not yet.”

“What? C’mon. Peter’s been doing this stuff longer than either of us. He might actually improve on the plan, you know. In fact we should run it by Graham, too. They’ll want to coordinate resources for watching for Robert and making the capture.”

Henry toed off his shoes and moved back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “What did you think in Seattle, when Robert meekly followed the FBI agents outside?”

“I was surprised he didn’t fight them and go out shooting,” Neal said automatically.

“Same here. I’ve run through every scenario I can imagine, and it almost always ends with a shootout.” He rubbed his face. “We’re not planning his arrest. We’re planning his death.”

Neal took a sharp breath. “You can’t know that. They’ll aim to wound him.”

“He’ll keep shooting as long as he’s breathing. They’ll have to take a kill shot to stop him from hurting everyone in the vicinity.” Henry closed his eyes. “They can’t arrest him in a crowded place like an airport. It has to be at the end of your con, when he gets off the boat.”

As much as Neal disliked Robert, he felt a stab of pain for what Henry had been going through, imagining these scenarios. He finally understood why his cousin had been avoiding the people closest to him. Talking about this – actually admitting it out loud – must be excruciating. That realization made Neal even more determined to wrap up the Masterson con first; he didn’t think a grieving Henry could pull off the Shawn Legend act. Or he’d disappear into Shawn to avoid the grief and it would be impossible to get Henry back. “You want to be there when it happens – when he dies.”

Henry nodded and opened his eyes. “I hate what he’s done, what he’s doing, but he’s my dad. I want to say goodbye. That’s not going to happen if we give the FBI a lot of notice of what we’re doing.”

“Does Graham know?”

“Yeah. He’s reached the same conclusion. Robert’s his son. He feels the same way. He wants to be there to say goodbye. I can tell Pops about the plan, get his help setting it up. But don’t tell anyone at the FBI, please.”

“I get it. I’ll keep a lid on it as long as I can. But how about using Mozz? We need him to plant the clues pointing to Alaska. He’s totally off Robert’s radar.”

Henry cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him about it when I return the car. Probably not safe for me to contact you directly until Robert’s taken the bait, but we can communicate through Mozzie for the short term.” He put his shoes back on and stood up. “You got transportation home?”

Neal also came to his feet. He dangled a key chain. “Jaguar.”

Henry smiled. It didn’t convey actual happiness, but Neal appreciated the effort. “That’s…” He paused. “Is your safe ringing?”

Neal rushed to open the safe. He’d been preoccupied with Henry and had forgotten to retrieve his phone. It was Peter calling. “Yeah?” he said moments before the call could go to voicemail. He felt a breeze and looked up as the hotel room door closed. Henry was gone. By the time Neal reached the door, the rust bucket was pulling out of the parking lot. “Damn it!”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Late Tuesday afternoon, Jones walked into Peter’s office and closed the door. He looked confused and worried.

“Something wrong?” Peter asked.

Jones sat down. “I got a hit on the name Henry Winslow. Couple of hours ago, cops in a suburb of Philadelphia arrested a man by that name. Description matches Neal’s cousin.”

That was surprising. They hadn’t gotten a viable hit on that name in weeks. Peter assumed Henry was using fake IDs. “Can we send someone to talk to him?”

“Too late. Less than an hour after the arrest, someone showed up offering to bail him out. Charges were dropped after he paid a fine, and he was let go.”

“You got a description of the other person?” Peter had to guess it was Mozzie. He was in Philadelphia, and he probably knew both cousins. He’d bail Henry out as a favor to Neal.

“That’s where it gets weird. Guy who came to bail him out showed an ID giving his name as Henry Winslow, and he matched the description, too.” Jones shrugged. “I gotta think one of ‘em is the real deal and the other is Caffrey. One of them gets in trouble, bails the other out, sure. I get that. I mean, I’d do the same for my brother. But how’d he get there that fast?”

Peter leaned back in his chair. “Graham Winslow. Neal made contact with him at Win-Win, was convinced he’d discovered Henry’s accomplice, and was determined to talk Graham into keeping him in the loop. Sounds like he succeeded. He must have gotten Graham to tell him that Henry was in Philly. That’s why he went there, and how Henry got to the police station so fast.”

“Does that help us?” Jones wondered.

“I’m not sure yet.” Peter was thinking back to his confrontation with Neal yesterday, when he’d warned Neal that he was on a path that could get him arrested. Had he been caught joining an illegal poker game, maybe in some backroom or unlicensed gambling club? “What were the charges?”

Jones scanned the sheet of paper he’d brought with him. “Says it was busking.”

“Busking.” Not what he’d expected, but he’d seen a guitar in Neal’s hotel room. Had he been planning this all along? “Any hits on Neal or any of his aliases in Philadelphia?”

“Nothing but a location near the arrest for his cell phone. I don’t see how he got there from Atlantic City – no bus or train tickets on record – and there aren’t any credit card hits. His cell phone signal stayed in the same place since shortly before the arrest until now.”

“Interesting. Thanks for staying on top of this.”

Jones stood up. “I’ll let you know if there are any more Winslow sightings.”

Peter nodded. He thought everything over for a few minutes, then went downstairs for coffee. Back at his desk, he called Neal’s cell phone. He thought it was going to go to voicemail when he heard a breathless, “Yeah?” followed moments later by, “Damn it!”

“Neal, what is it?”

“Henry got away. I knew I should have cuffed him to something.”

“I thought he’s the one who taught you how to pick handcuffs.”

“Yeah, but it would have slowed him down.” There was the sound of a door closing. “What’s going on?”

“Funny, that’s what I was going to ask you. What can you tell me about the arrest of Henry Winslow earlier this afternoon? I’m especially interested in the part where another Henry Winslow showed up to bail him out.”

“Sounds like you already know everything.”

“Neal,” said Peter in a stern, warning tone. He realized he sounded a lot like his own father.

Neal sighed. “I wanted to talk to Henry, and I found a way to get his attention. I think I got through to him, but the phone distracted me and he slipped away. I’ve got… It’s a lot to process, OK? I need to head back to New York soon. I’ll be in the office in the morning. Can we talk about it then? I’m still trying to put it all together myself.”

It was a reasonable request, Peter had to admit. And Neal did sound genuinely flustered. It was neither the time to lecture him on taking too many risks, nor the time to discuss their argument in Atlantic City. “I get it, but first thing after the morning briefing, we’re going to talk.” Neal agreed and then he was gone. Peter told himself not to worry.

El’s comment that he often worked late had Peter determined to head out at 5:00 today. He was actually shutting down his laptop when he got a call from an unknown number. “This is Special Agent Burke,” he answered.

“You promised you were going to look after Neal.”

“Henry. Good to hear from you again. Neal said you’d talked.”

“He got himself arrested. I had to get him out. You can’t let him do stuff like that, Peter. He was using my name. If I hadn’t come running, it would have been Robert showing up.”

It reminded Peter of a comment Jones had made a couple of weeks ago. He’d suggested that to catch Robert they might have to use Neal as bait. The thought still made his stomach churn. “Something tells me he knew you were nearby to come to the rescue.”

“Yeah. He convinced me I gotta stay in touch to keep him from trying something that dangerous again. But you have to help. I can’t do this on my own.”

“I’m glad to hear you realize that. I want to help. I always have. For that to work, you have to stay in contact.”

From there, things went downhill. Henry sounded increasingly worried and paranoid. It made Peter think back to Neal’s concern that Henry might be using drugs. He tried to be as encouraging and supportive as he could, but when Henry hung up a couple of minutes later, Peter had grave concerns.

He sat at his desk, wondering what to do, and then placed a call to Joe. “I think I could use some brotherly advice. Is this a good time?”

“Sure,” Joe said, although he sounded stressed. “What’s the problem?”

“Neal got arrested this afternoon. Not a big deal. Misdemeanor. Charges were dropped and he was released about an hour later.”

“You wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t a big deal.”

“He took a huge risk. He gave the arresting officer his cousin Henry’s name, knowing that Henry’s dad could hear about it and come after him, all on the chance that it would finally draw Henry out of hiding to talk to him.”

“Henry. You mean Noelle’s son?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“He seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders when I met him at the cabin. I was surprised when Noelle mentioned she was worried about him. I didn’t realize it was that serious.” He paused. “Come to think of it, whenever I asked how he was doing recently, she always managed to steer the conversation toward my girls. I should have paid more attention, asked more questions when she stopped talking about him. You said he disappeared. You have any idea what’s happened to him?”

“Yeah, Henry’s courting danger to keep his fugitive father focused on him and so he’ll leave the rest of the family alone. It’s noble, I guess, but I think we’d be a lot further along on this case if he’d work with us rather than avoiding us. It’s been bothering Neal, and now he’s jumping into the deep end to help his cousin. But he didn’t tell me what he was planning. He knows I’m here for him, knows I have resources that could keep him safe when he’s taking a risk like that. But he didn’t even ask. Didn’t call after it was over, either. I had to find out from one of my agents.”

“He’s what, 24?”

“Twenty-five.”

“When you were that age, did you call Dad every time you got into a scrape?” When Peter didn’t respond, Joe continued, “I didn’t keep Mom and Dad informed of all my missteps. If I could handle things myself, that’s what I did. And I was proud of myself for doing it.”

“Suppose it was one of your daughters?”

“That’s the stuff that keeps me up at night. But I have to trust that I taught them how to handle the bumps in the road, and they’ll let me know if they need me. In your case, you’ve bragged several times about how capable Neal is. If that’s true, you need to make sure he realizes you respect his ability to take care of himself.”

“I should let it go.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You can’t let him think you condone endangering himself. Kids that age tend to think they’re immortal and we have to remind them they’re not. But give him a chance to think through how to break the news to you about the arrest and why it happened. He might be embarrassed about it now, especially given your job. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that. Now that it’s over he might be looking for the right time to come clean.”

“I might have jumped the gun on that.”

“Already chewed him out?”

“No, but he knows I know, and I, um, I kind of used the voice on him. You know.” He channeled that stern fatherly voice and said, “Neal.”

“Wow. You sound just like Dad.”

“Scared me a bit. I didn’t even know I could do that.”

Joe chuckled. “I remember the first time I said Rosalind’s name like that. It shook me up to hear Dad’s voice coming out of my mouth. But it’s not so bad being like Dad. He did a good job with us.”

“Did you ever rebel against Dad?” Peter asked.

“You think that’s what Neal is doing?”

“Maybe. It’s possible I brought some of this on myself. I was worried and since my concerns were related to a case, I justified using Bureau resources to keep track of him. Going into it, I’d worried I might be turning into a control freak, but convinced myself it was acceptable to invade Neal’s privacy to keep him safe. Let’s just say he didn’t agree. The arrest might have been at least partly motivated to get under my skin.”

“I see how that could have happened. I had it easier than you – most dads do, I guess. We start off with infants. When we go overboard trying to control everything around their environment to keep them safe, they’re oblivious to it. They don’t remember the fools we make of ourselves, or how we finally admit defeat. But you’re dealing with someone who’s able to perceive your struggles and be annoyed by them.”

“What would you do, if you were in my shoes?”

“I think honesty is your best bet. He’s got to know you care about him, and if he thinks of you as a dad he cares a lot about having your good opinion. If you tell him you were acting out of concern and that you realize where you overstepped the bounds, that’s about the most disarming thing you can do. And let him yell, if he needs to. Or be sarcastic, or whatever he does. But let him get it out of his system instead of bottling up that annoyance.”

It made sense and Peter almost wrapped up the call then, but something else was bothering him. Why did the normally calm, unruffled Joe sound stressed? “Are you OK?”

“It’s the FBI training, isn’t it? You didn’t used to be so observant. Hold on. This calls for a beer.” There was a sound of a bottle cap being removed. “You remember I went to D.C. this weekend, met Noelle’s parents? Her dad’s an ambassador, you know.”

Peter knew. He’d met the ambassador a few times, and had been impressed with Neal’s grandfather. “Retired, yeah. Noelle didn’t tell you?”

“She told me. I thought I knew what I was getting into.” He took a swig of the beer. “I had no idea.”

It wasn’t like Joe to be intimidated. He often met politicians and executives in his architecture projects, and he always thought of them and treated them as ordinary people. It was something Peter emulated in his role as an agent. “Hard to imagine you in over your head. Tell me about it.”

“We met at their house, and everything was normal at first. We took a picnic basket and blankets out to watch the big D.C. fireworks display. Must have been tens of thousands of people there. We were surrounded by national monuments, and in the back of my mind I was thinking I wanted to do this again and bring the girls along. We were grazing on the food Noelle’s mom had packed and chatting about some of their travel overseas and some of the buildings in Europe that had inspired me architecturally. And then…” Another swig of beer. “The ambassador gets a call. He gets more and more serious as the call continues, and when it’s over he tells us to pack up. We put everything back in the basket, fold up the blankets, and walk toward the street. I figure there’s been like a death in the family or something. I mean, what else could it be?”

“What happened?”

“Well when we get to the street, a black limo pulls up. Government plates on it. We get in and… I swear to God, Peter, I’m not making this up. It takes us to the White House.”

Now Peter wanted a beer. “Why?”

“I had no idea. They show us into some kind of antechamber that you don’t see on the tours. Noelle and her mom and I stay there. Edmund Caffrey is whisked away by some Secret Service guys for half an hour. Then we hear him walking back, but it isn’t just him. The Secretary of State escorts him back to us after his meeting with the Vice President. Then Edmund’s apologizing for derailing our outing, and the Secret Service guys show us to a spot on the lawn where we could see the fireworks. We spread out the damn picnic blanket on the lawn of the White House like it was… Like it was normal. We picked up where we’d left off, eating stuff Irene had packed and talking about architecture until the fireworks started. Then when the crowds had thinned out another limo took us back to Edmund’s car.”

“Did he tell you what it was all about?”

“You know those stories in the news about unrest in Eastern Europe?”

“Yeah, we’ve been doing some emergency planning here in case that leads to domestic unrest. I heard some heads of state were planning to meet next week to negotiate a cease fire. In Geneva, right? Last I heard, the U.S. wasn’t getting involved in the talks.”

“That’s right. No active U.S. officials will be involved. But a certain retired ambassador and his wife have been asked to go on a vacation in Switzerland.”

Peter shook his head. “There are times Neal and his antics seem larger than life. It’s like somehow, even growing up away from them, he knew what he was a part of.”

“No such intuition on my side. I had no idea. It was more than I could deal with. I panicked. When we got back to her parents’ house, Noelle asked about plans for next weekend and I blurted out that I was wondering if that was a good idea. Our backgrounds are so much more different than I’d realized, and I said I was having doubts this relationship could work.” He sighed. “She’d taken everything in stride all evening. I was starting to think nothing could get to her, but when I blundered my way through that comment her eyes filled with tears and her face crumpled. Her parents had backed off to give us a little privacy so they didn’t hear what I said, but they saw her reaction. Next thing I knew her dad was ushering her away and her mom was graciously seeing me out the door before I could take my foot out of my mouth. I really blew it.”

“You try calling her?”

“No answer. I sent an email, kept it low key, thanking her for the adventure on the Fourth and apologizing for overreacting at the end. I said how much I admired her parents and what they were stepping up to do in Europe. Then I ended with suggesting we get together next week. She shot me down. Said she’s been invited along to Switzerland and doesn’t know when she’ll be back.”

“You really did blow it.” Peter couldn’t offer much advice beyond what Joe already had planned, to let Noelle have some space and contact her again when she returned from Europe. For weeks now she’d been on edge about Henry disappearing, and this rejection by Joe had probably been the final straw. She needed to get away. At least now Joe understood what she’d been going through with Henry’s recent actions, and he could keep that in mind the next time he talked to her. Peter had no doubt that Joe would eventually get to make an apology in person. Noelle was a reasonable woman who would be willing to hear him out, and Burkes could be stubborn, especially when they believed they needed to right a wrong.

As Peter finally made his way home to finish replacing the flooring in the laundry room, he let go of a scrap of hope he’d been holding onto. He’d thought Noelle might be able to help with Neal’s tuition. Neal was too proud to ask, but Peter thought he might be able to work with Noelle to get around that obstacle. But for now she wouldn’t want to talk to anyone named Burke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few disclaimers: 1) I haven’t been to Philadelphia, but their Free Public Library sounds amazing. 2) In 2002 my town of 40K people didn’t have anyone available on a full-time basis to take fingerprints, so I assume it’s realistic in other suburbs around that time. I’m not an expert on procedures and steps for arresting someone for a misdemeanor in a small town. 3) I’m not an expert on small planes or insurance for them. 4) The unrest in Eastern Europe I’ve been vaguely mentioning isn’t based on any real events then or now. 5) It’s quite a coincidence about the Patriot Act deadline as I’ve been describing use of the NSA cell phone data to track Neal. I’m not trying to make any political statement. Back in late 2013 when I wrote Choirboy Caffrey and had Neal brought into the FBI, I wondered what would be an option for tracking him in lieu of the anklet of canon, and the NSA data popped to mind. I’m not an expert on that data or on the legal issues surrounding its use.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her usual beta reader excellence, especially for her research and suggestions for the conversation between Peter and Joe.
> 
> And of course, thanks for reading! In the next chapter, Neal returns to New York. He’s awake and sharp now, ready to return to work at the FBI and have the long-awaited talk with Peter.


	22. Tracked

**Neal’s loft. Wednesday morning. July 7, 2004.**

“You _are_ coming back to New York eventually, right?” Neal asked when he called Mozzie before going to work.

“The Caffrey Caravan is packing up today and heading north. Watching them pack their wares and take down their stalls is an education in how to travel light and disappear. I’m going to follow them for one more day to watch how they set up, and then I’ll return to my usual environs refreshed and inspired.”

“Inspired to do what?”

“I have a new thread to consider in the disappearance of my parents after they left me at the orphanage. I’d assumed that to melt away so thoroughly, they must have been spies. But now I should consider they might have been gypsies. It offers enormous insight into my own skills and interests. Of course, it still leaves open the question of why they felt the need to leave me in Detroit. This caravan has lots of children running around and they seem perfectly safe and happy.”

Mozzie sounded so sad that Neal had to say, “I’m sure it was something dire that drove them to it.”

“Naturally.” Mozzie fell silent a moment and then asked, “But what did you want to discuss?”

“You mentioned something a while ago about the NSA using quantum computers to track people.”

“That’s still a developing technology, but they’re doing fine without it. They’ve been tracking people even before they were officially recognized as a government agency. If tracking can be considered an art, they’re the grand masters.”

“What’s their relationship with the FBI?”

“Officially, they’re more closely aligned to the CIA, but I’m sure they’re in bed with your Suits, too. They have a wealth of data about everyone in the U.S. who has ever accessed the internet or used a cell phone. Anyone who thinks the government doesn’t store and monitor every email, text message or other type of electronic message ever sent is deluded, my friend. The sheer magnitude –”

“Mozz, I don’t have a lot of time. Doesn’t the FBI need a warrant and probable cause to track a person’s phone? Officially, anyway.” Regardless of what the FBI might have access to, Neal was certain Peter would follow officially approved channels.

“Not anymore. According to the Patriot Act, they only need reasonable suspicion of criminal activities for basic cyber surveillance. Probable cause is theoretically required for gathering more than basic details, but we all know that Big Brother wouldn’t bother to…” He went on a little longer, and Neal listened as he left June’s mansion, trying to filter through the paranoia to get to the facts.

Finally as he neared the subway entrance he said goodbye and thought through the implications. The FBI was partnering with Win-Win to look for Robert. Through their clients, Win-Win had access to bank and credit card transactions, many travel records, and surveillance camera footage for businesses like Las Vegas resorts. Peter had admitted to using that data to track Neal – retroactively it seemed – by looking back at records from Neal’s trip to Vegas. He’d called it a test. Graham had mentioned NSA data, and Peter hadn’t denied that the FBI was using it. If someone was joining Win-Win and NSA data, it would become nearly impossible for the average person to hide. Even someone like Neal would find it difficult, given his own reliance on his cell phone and email.

The question was one of cause. He’d given the FBI no reason to think he was engaging in criminal activities, so how could Peter justify using those resources to track him? Peter had known he was in Baltimore, then tracked him down in Atlantic City, and then called him in Philadelphia having figured out he’d been arrested under the name Henry Winslow. That knowledge and the speed with which Peter had it pointed to more than the usual level of FBI tracking. And even that tracking typically required a warrant. Why wasn’t Neal being granted the same right to privacy as any other citizen?

Neal was disgusted with himself for taking this long to figure out that he was being tracked by the FBI. Peter had been right in Atlantic City that Neal hadn’t been thinking clearly. He had to avoid getting that exhausted again. To help Henry catch Robert and stop Masterson, not to mention running his Find the Lady scheme of keeping the FBI in the dark about Urban Legend, he needed to stay sharp.

Theoretically only Hughes, Peter and Jones were part of the Robert Winslow case with access to Win-Win resources. Recently Neal had gotten involved, and Tricia as well. But it was those original three who knew the most, and of those Jones was the most conversant in data. Therefore as soon as Neal got to the office, he walked over to Jones’ desk. “Not bad,” he told the agent. “You finally won a round of Tuesday Tails.”

Jones looked up inquisitively. “You weren’t here Tuesday.”

“No. It was a virtual game this time, finding me in Philly while I was pretending to be Henry. Impressive, but also cheating, don’t you think? Next time you have to let me know the game is on, and I’ll really give you a run for your money.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to –”

“It’s OK,” Neal interrupted. “Graham Winslow told me about the NSA data, and then had me talk to Peter about it. It’s an amazing resource.”

“I’m lucky to get my hands on it,” Jones confirmed. “It’s still a trial at this point.”

Of course. That’s why they didn’t need a warrant. They weren’t tracking Neal as a criminal, but as a test case for a new technology. Peter could snoop with a clear conscience. “Let’s see it.” When Jones hesitated Neal added, “C’mon, after all the times I had to explain what I did when I won Tuesday Tails, aren’t you going to be generous when I’m defeated?” That did the trick. Neal had guessed that Jones was the type who prided himself on being a gracious winner. He showed Neal the data that had been used to track him, and it was impressive. More than ever he was glad he hadn’t given the FBI his Neal Legend alias. With it he could still disappear if he needed to, but he’d have to make sure to leave his phone behind next time he had an Urban Legend performance to reduce the potential of anyone making the connection.

Jones slanted a curious glance in Neal’s direction. “None of this shocks you? It took me aback when I first learned about it. The lawyer in me knows there will be serious legal challenges to face if we start using this stuff on a regular basis.”

Neal shrugged. “You met Mozzie, right? Compared to the conspiracy theories he spins, this is pretty tame.” Soon he returned to his desk. When he sat down, things seemed off. Stuff had been moved slightly. His laptop was open and he was sure he’d left it closed. When he booted it up he checked his browser history. He didn’t see anything he didn’t recognize, but then he noticed the dates. Someone had revisited his most recent searches while he’d been on vacation. No way had that happened without Peter’s knowledge. There hadn’t been much to see, but he wished there had been fewer searches on Masterson. He cleared out the browser history and planned to clear it daily before heading home from now on. But he remembered those messages that popped up every time someone logged onto to the Bureau systems, warning that everything you did on these computers was tracked. Back when he joined the team he’d been scrupulous about not doing anything on this computer that he didn’t want Peter to know about. He needed to return to that level of caution.

Neal kept an eye on Jones and wasn’t surprised that the agent went up to Peter’s office about ten minutes after Neal had moved to his own desk. As confident as he’d been in his ability to con Jones into showing him the NSA data, he knew the agent wasn’t a fool. It didn’t take him long to think through what Neal had said and realize he’d been played. At least Peter didn’t have a lot of warning before the morning briefing, and he’d promised Neal they’d talk right after that meeting.

At the end of the briefing, Peter asked Jones and Neal to meet him in the conference room they were using for the Winslow case in five minutes. Peter then walked into Hughes’ office and Jones said he was taking a restroom break, so Neal walked to the conference room alone, wondering if there had been a break in the case that was co-opting his planned conversation with Peter.

When Peter arrived, Jones and Hughes were with him. They all sat down and Peter said, “Neal, you deserve answers, and that’s why we’re here. I’m aware that you’re angry with me, both as your boss and as your friend. We’re going to start with talking about the professional aspects, and that’s where Jones and Hughes have information to add. Then they’ll leave and we’ll talk through what I’m sure you view as a personal betrayal.”

Neal looked around the room. He hadn’t expected witnesses. His righteous indignation faltered slightly. He wanted to have his say, but he didn’t want to get Peter in trouble. Most of this had originated from Neal’s decision to find Henry and bring down Masterson on his own, showing everyone that he could do the job without special treatment and that he wasn’t a teacher’s pet. He’d done this to help restore Peter’s reputation as a boss, justifying his decision to recruit Neal in the first place. Complaining about Peter as a boss went counter to his own goals. He took a sip of coffee as he reconsidered his approach. Rather than leading with accusations, he went with a question instead. “How long have you been tracking me?”

“You knew when we gave you that GPS-enabled phone before you left for Austin that we wanted to track your location for your safety. After you swapped phones with Henry, we did what we could to track your personal phone. That stopped when you got back to New York, but when you took the Nick Halden ID with you last week, all bets were off. It was an alias Robert knew, and that put you in danger.”

Neal suspected that getting approval for access to the NSA data hadn’t happened overnight. Either Peter had been preparing this as a contingency for a while, or… “When was the first time you used NSA data to track me?”

This time Hughes spoke up. “I supported Peter’s decision to recruit you, but I also knew we’d be under intense pressure if you screwed up. The NSA collection of cell phone records had been mentioned in high-level planning sessions late last year, and we were looking for a test case. When you joined the team it seemed like the perfect opportunity. I authorized it in December. Peter thought Jones was right for the job, that he had the expertise and discretion to handle it.”

“Peter specifically told me he didn’t want detailed reports,” Jones said. “He wasn’t prying into your life. He asked me to keep my findings to myself unless I saw something that indicated you were getting into trouble.”

Neal eyed Peter skeptically. “You never asked for details?”

Peter met his eyes. “I asked to know where you went over Christmas. You going to your parents’ hometown worried me, given what the Marshals had said about your dad’s enemies.”

And Neal had made a point of teasing Peter with his refusal to share details about his Christmas vacation. That had come around to bite him. “How long did the tracking go on?” The room was silent. “Were you serious about me deserving answers?”

“Into February,” Peter said.

Neal’s frustration bubbled up, and he forced himself to relax his grip on his coffee mug. “Two months? Are you kidding me? I never did anything to make you think I was going to backslide. When I think how careful I was to do everything you wanted, the way you wanted it… What could possibly justify tracking me for that long?”

“Byron Ellington,” said Jones. “He was a double-edged sword. Meeting him convinced me that you had a mentor who could help you stay on our side. I made sure Peter met him, and he agreed.”

Peter picked up the story. “At that point Jones asked if he could stop tracking you. I asked him to continue, because Byron was dying and the loss of a mentor can hit a person hard. I worried that grief might affect your decision-making for a while.”

“At the end I was only looking at the data a couple times a week,” Jones added. “And by that time I wasn’t really interested in where you went. I needed the raw data to test an algorithm I was developing in case we decided to use the NSA data for real cases.”

Neal nodded as he put pieces of the puzzle together. “When you asked your friend George to follow me in February, were you using the NSA data?”

“Yeah. There’d been patterns emerging in the data and that gave me a good idea of where you would be going. And that was the last time I used it. Peter had concerns. To keep you from seeing what I was doing, I studied the data from home, and George had been staying at my place. We couldn’t risk him discovering where the data came from, and we both agreed you hadn’t given us any reason to keep tracking you.”

“What about between February and now?”

“There was no other tracking,” Peter said. “You know the full extent of it now.”

“Were you ever going to tell me if I didn’t figure it out on my own?” Neal didn’t need to hear an answer. He could see it in their expressions. They’d had every intention of keeping him in the dark. He probably should drop it, but he felt he still had a point to make. “How would you react if you found out you were the one being tracked? Jones?”

Jones grimaced. “I’d want a damned good explanation. And I’m not sure being a test case would be good enough, not after the fact. If I’d been approached about it in advance, I might go for it for a short-term. In fact, trying to outwit the tracking to test its limits could have some appeal.”

Neal nodded. “Peter?”

“I’ve thought about it, especially the last few days. I’d want to give the Bureau the benefit of the doubt, so I’d withhold judgment until I got an explanation. I’d be annoyed if they tracked me just for a test, and I’d want assurance that the data was erased after the test ended. If the tracking included El, that’s where I’d get upset. Unless she’s in danger, her privacy in nonnegotiable.”

Hughes added, “I’d say the same. There are times in this job that you’re under surveillance for your protection. Usually you get advance warning. If that isn’t possible, you should be told as soon as possible afterward. You have my apologies for that, Neal. We should have been more upfront with you.”

They weren’t sorry they’d done it, but they understood how he felt about it and he’d gotten an apology for how it was handled. He knew he wouldn’t get more than that. “So we’re done here?”

“Not quite,” Hughes said. “Over the last several days you’ve uncovered Henry Winslow’s accomplice and finally spoken with your cousin. As we’ve been treating the search for him as a case that you’re working, we need a readout of what you learned.”

“Henry’s grandfather Graham Winslow has been acting as his accomplice. If he sees something in the Winston-Winslow data feeds that he thinks Henry needs to know, he contacts him. They’re using satellite phones, which I’ve been told aren’t being monitored by the NSA yet.”

Hughes raised a brow and made a note. Mozz would be sorry to see that loophole disappear, but Neal needed to share something significant to distract everyone from the things he needed to leave out. The game of Find the Lady wasn’t over yet.

Neal lifted his coffee mug and scowled. There wasn’t much coffee left, and what remained was getting cold. Just the thought of what he needed to share next left him antsy. “Could I get a refill before we move on?”

Peter nodded. “You’re not being interrogated, Neal. Anytime you need a break, just ask.”

“I’ll be right back.” Neal dashed downstairs, and made a last minute choice of water over coffee. He took a few deep breaths before returning. When he was seated again he said, “When I spoke with Henry –”

“Hold your horses there,” Peter interrupted. “You’re skipping something. On the phone you mentioned a file Henry had hidden at the Win-Win offices.”

Another deep breath. “Remember how you deduced that the clues I found in Vegas were a goodbye message from Henry in case he doesn’t survive the confrontation with Robert? It’s the same kind of thing. One last case he regrets he didn’t have time to work. He left it knowing that Graham would become obsessed with solving it as a final tribute if Henry… if he dies.”

“What’s the case?” Jones asked.

Neal weighed the risks. Peter must be aware of the searches he’d done on his Bureau laptop. And in the end he did intend to turn the evidence over to Peter to charge Stan Masterson with his crimes. The trick was keeping Urban Legend off the FBI’s radar, so that the aliases he and his cousins used remained intact. “There’s a company called Masterson Music, named for Stan Masterson. Stan and his company are scum of the earth, profiting by destroying the dreams of musicians. He needs to be stopped, but finding the evidence to prove what Stan is doing has been a challenge. He’s a force to be reckoned with in the industry, and if you’re on his blacklist it’s almost impossible to get a recording contract even with his competitors. Given that risk, most of the singers and musicians he’s cheated are afraid to come forward. Music is near and dear to the hearts of most of my relatives, and this case is one of the reasons Henry agreed to go to work for Win-Win after years of telling Robert no.”

“I’ve witnessed something similar a number of times in my career,” Hughes said. “An agent gets a case stuck in his craw, and can’t leave or retire until he’s convinced that someone else understands the importance and will continue the investigation. At one time I thought catching you might become Peter’s version of Masterson Music – the case he couldn’t let go of.”

The thought that both Peter and Hughes understood how he and Henry felt about this case was a surprise, and helped lighten Neal’s mood slightly.

Peter smiled. “Don’t forget to tell us about Sara Ellis and her help in your masquerade as Henry. You said you actually let her mess with your hair?”

“Yeah, what’s the deal with that?” Jones added.

Neal’s hands flexed in an automatic reaction, wanting to run through his hair as if he could brush the highlights away. “I had no idea what she had planned. She promised it would wash out, but it’s lasting longer than she led me to believe.”

“It’s a lot lighter than it was Monday,” Peter added, “but I remember El decided to try highlights once, and it took longer to fade out of that dark hair of hers than the box said it would. It was only a month before our wedding and she was starting to panic that it wouldn’t fade before the ceremony and the wedding photos would show those weird blond streaks.” He looked at everyone in the room in turn. “And if anyone tells El I called her hair weird, I will have to hurt you.”

Neal watched Peter, who nodded in satisfaction. He seemed to know that this readout was stressful for Neal and had arranged this moment of humor to calm him. Now it was time to cover the worst part. “After talking to Henry in Philadelphia, I finally understand why it’s taking so long to capture Robert. Henry’s convinced that in the end, his dad will go down shooting. Win-Win – specifically Graham – is not just looking for Robert. The trick is finding the right location and circumstances to maneuver him into, limiting the carnage. And they’re certain that the only way to stop Robert in that final confrontation is to kill him. We’re talking about Robert’s son and father. They both want a chance to say goodbye first.”

Silence fell over the room.

“Jesus,” said Hughes emphatically. “I want to take them both off the case, but I can’t tell Win-Win what to do. If they want to keep Graham and Henry involved, there’s nothing we can do but be aware of what’s driving them.” He made another note on the pad of paper in front of him. “Anything else, Caffrey?”

Neal shook his head.

“How much of yesterday did you spend in your efforts to track down your cousin and then actually talking to him?”

“I don’t know. Several hours.”

“And several more hours on Sunday to confirm Graham Winslow’s role in all of this?” Hughes continued.

“Yeah.”

“Then when you report your time for this week, don’t list Tuesday as a vacation day. You were working. My concern is that you did not keep your boss informed. You traveled on Bureau business without arranging for backup and without letting anyone on the team know your plans. That resulted in significant overtime for Peter and Jones as they realized what was going on and tried to confirm you were safe. I understand they also had Agent Miller working on the holiday as part of this effort. You’re part of a team and you need to act like it, if you plan to stay on the team. Jones, I think you and I can go and let Agent Burke take it from here.”

When the door was closed behind them and it was just Peter and Neal in the room, Neal finally gave in to the urge to run his hands through his hair. “Remember the days when you thought Henry Winslow was someone I’d made up? Never expected this, did you?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They had a lot to discuss, and Peter knew some of it would be contentious, but he couldn’t suppress a moment of relief. He’d been so worried in Atlantic City, seeing this brilliant young man too tired to think straight. Now he was finally rested and on top of his game, and it was a pleasure to have Neal back in all his glory, making big revelations and challenging everyone’s assumptions.

“Let’s just say I don’t envy Noelle the job she had in raising him. But on the other hand, I do wish I’d met you sooner. We’ve had a lot stacked against us, when it comes to learning to trust each other over the last six months. We’ve come a long way, considering.”

“You say that after admitting to tracking me for months?”

“I do. At first the tracking helped me learn to trust you. I knew you wanted this job, believed you wanted to make it work, but I didn’t know if you could withstand the pressure of your old friends who’d try to tempt you into one more score. Each day that Jones had nothing to report I could relax a little more and trust that you wouldn’t be lured away. And more recently… You do understand I ordered the tracking this time to protect you, right? The more you feel like a son, the more terrifying it is to see you take these risks.”

“And the more likely it is that you’ll overreact when I take a calculated risk?”

“I’ll admit I went overboard, but I had good reason. Your safety was at stake. I can’t take that lightly.”

Neal gazed into the distance a moment before responding. “And I can’t take the invasion of privacy lightly, because of the stories I heard about Robert. He did a real number on Henry, and I get leery when it feels like you’re trying to spy on me or control me.”

This wasn’t something he’d heard before. “Exactly what did Robert do?”

Neal shook his head.

“It could be pertinent to what he’s doing now, how he’s staying aware of what Henry is doing and keeping a step ahead.”

“I know. That’s occurred to me, too. But I promised Henry I wouldn’t share those stories. And I tried to convince him, Peter. Yesterday I asked again, hoping he’d see how it could help, and he made it clear he still holds me to that promise.”

And this was an example of why working cases involving your family was discouraged. “When I agreed to assign you the case of Henry’s disappearance, I said I needed full disclosure from you, remember?”

Neal grimaced. “I’m telling you everything I can.”

“That’s not what _full disclosure_ means.”

“It’s the best I can do. If my best isn’t good enough…” He shrugged. “One way or another, I’m going to help Henry get through this. If I can’t live up to your rules and expectations, then I’ll do it on my own.”

“What, quit the Bureau?”

“I’d rather take a leave of absence, but if that’s what it takes…”

Peter stood and paced the room. “The other day you compared yourself to Pinocchio, the implication being that you aren’t a real member of this team, that you think you have to prove yourself in order to belong. It doesn’t work that way, Neal. The moment you signed the employment contract, you were a full-fledged member of this team. We’re not going to abandon you because things with your family are messy. Just the opposite. I want to help you and Henry get through this.”

“As my boss, or as…” He trailed off, sounding unsure if he should say it.

Peter sat beside him, aching that the kid felt doubt about his place. “Have you convinced yourself that you’ve lost my support because you’re siding with Henry on this? You’re not the first kid to side with a sibling over his parents in an argument. I get it, even if I wish you’d see that as your boss, and as a dad, I want to help you. The options of what I can do differs by role, but the goal remains the same.”

“And that’s how you justify tracking me, going through my laptop, invading my privacy?”

“You weren’t leaving me many options. You were going into potentially dangerous situations, and shutting me out at the same time. As both your boss and a dad, I assumed you’d keep me informed of what you were up to, and instead… Honestly, I was floundering, trying to figure out what you were doing and why – why you were doing it and why you were keeping me in the dark about it. It felt like I was dealing with a rebellious teen, one who was pushing the limits and testing that his parents cared enough to push back.”

Neal looked surprised. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Maybe not, but I’m trying to explain how it looked from my side. That’s the mindset that was influencing my reactions. I was scared, Neal. Scared of the danger to you…” He shook his head rather than adding _scared of losing my son_. They’d dwelt on the past enough. Justifying actions that even he’d thought took him into _control freak_ territory was only going to come across and defensive and probably annoy Neal. He needed to move this conversation in another direction: the dreaded apology. “Tell you what, I’m willing to admit that I made some bad judgment calls recently. I’m sorry about that, and I promise I’m not going to repeat those actions. I’ll probably make brand new mistakes instead. And they’ll be made with the best intentions, because I care about you and want you to be safe.” Peter smiled wryly. “Can we put this behind us and move forward?”

For a moment Neal studied him. Weighing the sincerity of Peter’s apology? Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He nodded.

“Now that you’ve spoken to Henry, I assume you have next steps in mind for helping him?”

“Yeah.”

“Write it down. Describe what you have in mind as an actual plan that includes using FBI resources. End of day we’ll go through it, refine it, and then put it into action starting tomorrow. Are you with me on the idea that Robert’s capture doesn’t have to involve death and destruction?”

“I like to think there’s another way,” Neal agreed.

“Great. Common ground. Let’s work with it.” As Neal opened the door to leave, Peter said, “By the way, you had a folder named FTL on your laptop. I’m not familiar with that acronym. What’s it stand for?”

Neal grinned. “Speaking as someone recently accused of acting like a teenager, that’s for me to know and you to find out.” He stepped into the hallway.

“Very adult, Caffrey!” Peter yelled after him. But he smiled as he returned to his office.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At 3pm Neal looked at his “plan” with dismay. It was half a page long, and didn’t sound even vaguely like it would lead to Robert’s capture.

The problem was that yesterday he’d promised Henry to keep the core elements of his plan a secret from the FBI for now. And he knew what Peter would say to that. He’d throw out the “full disclosure” promise again. Neal had made conflicting promises and was stuck in the middle.

The bullpen was quiet this afternoon. Several people were on summer vacations, and many others were in the field. Those sitting at their desks looked busy, unlikely to welcome an interruption, except…

Yeah, Travis Miller looked as morose as Neal felt. Travis was one of the quieter team members, and often got stuck with assignments in the van. Neal didn’t know much about him, and hadn’t kept track of what he was working on recently. What had he said in the briefing this morning? Something about going undercover tomorrow. That had to be more entertaining than his own failure to document a plan that had any chance of getting Peter’s approval.

Neal walked over and sat on the corner of Travis’ desk. “Hey, I should thank you for the help on Sunday. Hughes pointed out that you had to work on a holiday because of me. I didn’t mean to cause anything like that. I owe you.”

Travis leaned back in his chair. He wore the customary Brooks Brothers suit but always looked like he’d be more comfortable in jeans. In fact rumor had it he dressed down if he knew he’d spend all day in the van, bringing along a suit in case he was called back to the office. “It was interesting, actually.” He rolled his eyes and gestured at the paperwork on his desk. “A lot more appealing than what I’m doing tomorrow.”

“I thought you were going undercover tomorrow.” Neal loved going undercover, and couldn’t understand Travis’ look of dread in response to his comment. “You want to trade assignments?”

“Honestly, yes, and I don’t even know what you’re working on. But I need to do this. I’ve been with the Bureau almost two years, and I keep getting the same feedback. They love my skills with electronics and with monitoring suspects, but I need to show ‘career growth’ by trying other things.”

“Wait. Are you saying you’ve never gone undercover?”

“Not like this. I’ve provided a distraction or backup for another agent, but I’ve never been the main act.” He checked his watch. “You got time for a cup of coffee? I could use advice from an expert. Everyone says you’re a natural at undercover work.”

“Bureau brew or something actual humans can consume?”

“What are your thoughts on the coffee shop across the street?” Travis stood up. “I’m buying.”

Neal patted his back. “Welcome to the Neal Caffrey crash course on undercover work.”

The heat wave had passed, and once they had their drinks, they decided to talk outside in the Federal Building Plaza. A water feature muffled their voices, so they didn’t have to worry about being overheard.

“Let’s start with the setting,” Neal suggested. “Where will you be?”

“In the morning I’ll go to Deloitte’s Manhattan offices. I’ll join a team of auditors there, who’ll think I’m from their D.C. office, specializing in government contracts. We’ll all get a briefing on one of their clients, an IT services company called Carlson-Berger. Then in the afternoon we take a flight to Atlanta. The client’s offices are in Alpharetta, Georgia, and they’ll put us up in a hotel nearby. Thursday and Friday I spend in their offices with the auditors, collecting information, reviewing documentation and interviewing some of the client’s employees if I have questions. The rest of the auditors will be there all of the next week, but if I’m lucky I can get what I need and leave Friday night.”

“OK, we’ve got where and when. Let’s cover who.”

“Carlson-Berger.”

“No, that’s a company. I need people.”

Travis shrugged. “I don’t know their names yet.”

“Yeah, but you know their job titles, right? Are you dealing with the CEO or the janitor, or something in between?”

“The CEO of Carlson-Berger approved it, but unfortunately the people he’d go to for the data we need are all suspects who could be tipped off if he makes a request for the information out of the blue. That’s why I’m going in as an auditor. The people I’ll deal with are mostly mid-level project managers, maybe a few technical people with the SQL chops to gather the data I need. And the other auditors. They won’t know I’m FBI. For the Deloitte team, typically there’s a senior member and several entry-level kids straight out of college using this as on-the-job training.”

“Sounds like you’re already familiar with this type of organization,” Neal remarked. It was true, and it helped reinforce that Travis was in his comfort zone with nothing to worry about. Confidence was the root of “con” after all, and undercover work was a type of con in his opinion.

“Before I joined the Bureau I worked for one of the big cell phone manufacturers. I worked on a team that designed and tested new devices, and we worked hand-in-hand with the software teams. You get used to how IT works. Audits were always an annual thing, but they’re getting more complex these days with SOX.”

Neal glanced at Travis’ feet and raised a brow.

“Not socks. SOX. The Sarbanes-Oxley Act. It’s introduced a whole new level of audits. Even the auditors are still figuring out what’s in scope. What I’m hearing from my old colleagues is that they’ll ask for tons of data, in case it’s relevant, and claim the company’s execs could go to prison if any information they want is not provided.”

“So that’s good news. You can ask for info they’re not used to providing, and they’ll think it’s your interpretation of SOX. And that gets us to the other side of the _who_ question. Who will you be?”

“My cover name is Travis Lund.” Travis paused as Neal raised a brow again. “You know, that eyebrow trick is impressive. I wish I had more to give you, but the name is it. It’s me with another name.”

“It’s more than that. It’s a you who didn’t join the FBI. I’m assuming you were chosen for this because your experience at your last job was relevant?” Neal asked. When Travis nodded, Neal continued, “How did this version of you end up working as an auditor at Deloitte?”

“Well, I was on that design team, like I told you, and in the middle of a big project the project manager quit. I was known to be organized, good at keeping my work on schedule, able to get along well with project managers instead of treating them like dirt, as compared to some of the other team members. Long story short, they asked me to take the PM role for the rest of the project. Not my idea of fun work, but I did my best.” He spread his hands in a what-can-I-say gesture. “Next thing I knew I was the PM for the next project. Instead of the company replacing the old project manager, I kept getting more of that work, and less of the design work that I loved. I ended up pigeon-holed. If I wanted to keep my technical skills up-to-date, I needed to move back into a design role but the company didn’t want to give up a good PM, so I looked outside and found the FBI was looking for people with technical skills.”

“That’s the Travis Miller story. Where does Travis Lund veer off from that?”

“Well, he liked the PM work, I guess. A good project manager can make more money at the big-name consulting companies, so he would have talked to other PMs about who’s hiring and moved into Deloitte.”

Neal nodded. “That’s more like it. Lund is used to being in charge, at least at the project level. He likes money, and he works for a big-name consulting firm. Ergo, he wears big-name designer suits. And his shirts are pressed.”

“Umm.” Travis looked at his rumpled suit in chagrin. “Is that really necessary?”

“Not always. A great actor can pull off a role without being dressed for the part.” Neal shot Travis a glance. “But given your dismay at being assigned undercover work, I think we can say you are not a great actor. You need all the help you can get to pull off this assignment, and that means wardrobe is key. It helps form those crucial first impressions.”

“I think I’m doomed.”

“Maybe not. What’s your size?”

Travis rattled off a familiar size. The same as Henry’s. And Henry had always been willing to share. “You’re in luck. That’s the same as someone else I know, someone with expensive taste and the budget to indulge it. We might be able to borrow something of his.” Neal tried calling Noelle but didn’t get an answer. She was probably leading a class. He tried Irene’s number with a little trepidation. Despite her assurances that she’d love to hear from him anytime, he’d never initiated a call to his grandmother.

“Neal, dear boy,” she said with her hint of a Southern accent. “We were just talking about you. Edmund and I will be in New York on Saturday, with Noelle. Could you join us for lunch?”

“Absolutely. I’d love to. What’s the occasion?”

“We’re being briefed before going to Switzerland. There’s a bit of a crisis in Eastern Europe these days, you know.”

“Yeah, I’d heard a little about it. The Ambassador’s going to fix it, huh?”

“Officially we’re simply going on vacation in an area where talks are occurring, and need to be informed in case the press or other diplomats want to talk to us. But yes, we do hope Edmund can help. But that isn’t why you called now, is it?”

“No. Actually I have a favor to ask.” Neal paused. He’d been inside their house over the Christmas holidays, given a tour by Henry while their grandparents were away. He wasn’t sure if Irene knew about that. “I happen to know that Henry keeps some suits there, so he can visit and join you for formal events without packing a lot of stuff. A friend of mine here has a temporary need for a higher quality wardrobe, and he’s Henry size. Any chance you could overnight some of Henry’s stuff? Two or three suits. Shirts and ties, too, if you can.”

“I don’t suppose this is actually for Henry?” Irene asked softly. “I’d so love to hear that you found him.”

“No, it really is for an FBI agent. But I did talk to Henry yesterday, Dressa. Face-to-face. He’s fine, and he’s promised to stay in touch. He said he’d call Noelle.”

“Oh, Neal. You truly are a miracle. That will make such a difference. Poor Noelle…” Irene sniffed. “I’ll send those suits right now. I know a service that can get them to you by 6am.”

Neal gave her the address of June’s mansion, although he was fairly certain she had already gotten his address from Noelle. With the call ended, he told Travis to show up at his loft in the morning for a fitting. Mozzie could act as a tailor, fortunately. The shirts should fit, but Travis was slightly taller than Henry. Neal glanced at his watch. “There’s more we should cover to get you ready, but I’m supposed to talk to Peter soon. Can you tell me more about the assignment in the morning? My landlady serves a fantastic breakfast.”

Travis agreed. However, when they returned to the bullpen it was Travis that Peter pulled into his office, for a final strategy session before going undercover. Peter stopped at Neal’s desk at 5:30. “I’m trying to set a good example of not letting work eat into my personal life. Let’s review your plans tomorrow morning,” Peter suggested.

Neal breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps overnight he’d actually dream up a plan he could share with Peter.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The minute Mozzie learned that the tailor Neal needed was for an FBI agent, he declined to participate. “I don’t do suits for Suits,” he insisted. Instead he sent along a friend, someone with impeccable skills who had Travis measured in no time. The tailor stayed in Neal’s loft to make the alterations, and Travis followed Neal downstairs for breakfast with June.

June enjoyed meeting Mr. Lund – Neal insisted on using the cover name throughout breakfast so it would start to feel natural to Travis – and she shared a few stories about learning to play a role for a con. Travis was smiling when Neal asked for more details about his assignment. “Yesterday you went through everything but why. What’s the goal?”

Travis glanced uncertainly at June, who announced that she was going to bring more coffee. When she’d left the dining room Travis said, “You heard about the hacker who got access to the FBI and U.S. Marshals’ email? We’re pretty sure it’s someone at Carlson-Berger. They host the email servers for both agencies. I’m supposed to get a list of everyone with access to both sets of servers. Names, roles, when they were granted access, when they last accessed data on those servers, and so on. Once I have that, Jones can cross-reference it with information he got from Winston-Winslow. He’ll look for people who used to work at Winston-Winslow, or who went to Robert Winslow’s alma mater, or who have any other viable connections.”

Suddenly this assignment was much more interesting to Neal. “Does everyone at Carlson-Berger work in their Alpharetta office?”

“No. Most do, but they have a few satellite offices, and a few may telecommute.”

“Find out where each of these people is located. The guy you’re looking for –”

“You’re sure it’s a guy?” Travis interrupted.

“Probably. We got a glimpse of Robert’s accomplice in Seattle. It’s possible the person in Carlson-Berger is a girlfriend or someone else close to this accomplice, but it’s unlikely. Robert wants to be in control, and he’d be nervous about an extended link to the hacker.”

“So we’re looking for someone who lives in Seattle or who traveled there in that timeframe,” Travis noted.

“Right. And I think he was in New York on Tuesday.”

“Fascinating. Too bad we don’t have a photo. The company has thousands of employees, so the odds of running into him are low, but there’s always a chance. If we could narrow down the list to a small group before I leave, I could try to seek out some of them.”

June returned with a fresh pot of coffee and Neal excused himself to check on the tailor. He brought paper and good quality pencils down with him, followed by the tailor who had Travis try on the suits in another room while Neal sketched Ferrari’s face. He looked up when Travis returned wearing one of the suits, with the others packed in his suitcase.

“My, what a difference a good suit can make,” June said in approval. “You’ve been transformed, Mr. Lund.”

“Thanks. I feel like I’m finally a Starfleet officer,” Travis added. With a glance at Neal’s bemused expression he added, “Like I earned my Starfleet rank, symbolized by the spiffy uniform. I hope I do you both justice for all your help. And… Who was it who sent the suits by express? I really should pay that person back for the delivery fee.”

June smiled. “Your fairy godmother was a celebrity – none other than the renowned Irene Randolph. But perhaps you’re too young to have heard of her?”

Travis scoffed. “Are you kidding? Did you know that she almost played the role of Spock’s mother in _Star Trek_? At the last minute her daughters got sick and she had to return home before filming could start. Rumor has it that she’s the one who convinced Jane Wyman to step into the part.” He paused as his brain caught up with his mouth. “Hold on. Why did a celebrated actress have suits in my size? How would you know that? Or even know how to contact her? And she sent them express just because you called?”

“She’s my grandmother. The suits belong to my cousin.”

Travis sat down again, elbows on the dining room table and leaned forward eagerly. “No way. Your grandmother is Irene Randolph?”

“It’s Irene Caffrey now. Randolph was her maiden name, but she kept using it whenever she was acting. Yeah. She’s the one who sent my cousin’s suits.” Neal handed him the drawing of Ferrari. “Here’s what I think your guy looks like. It’s a rough sketch. The traffic cams that caught his image in Seattle were grainy, but it’s a start. Average height, dark hair, early thirties.”

“Thanks.” Travis glanced at the sketch but seemed preoccupied.

Neal was concerned. Maybe they shouldn’t have mentioned his celebrity grandmother. She was nice enough, but even Neal felt his new-found family was overwhelming at times. He hadn’t meant to overawe Travis going into this assignment. He needed to restore his confidence. “So, umm, you’re a _Star Trek_ fan?”

“Fan. Obsessed. Whatever you want to call it. The character Spock was an inspiration to me growing up. His ability to stay calm and think his way through any situation was an ideal I aspired to. He isn’t the loudest character, or the funniest, and he didn’t seek fame. And yet he made a major contribution. His knowledge and skills were often the key to solving the issues presented in the show. The crew wasn’t the same without him.”

“Any chance Travis Lund could be based on Spock? You know, like in a landing party? They were supposed to observe and not intervene, kind of like your role as an auditor.”

Travis sat up straighter. “The Prime Directive. Yes, I could do that. Spock joined many away team missions. It would be an honor to base my Travis Lund character on him. I can be a supremely logical auditor. You know, Spock wore a spiffy suit in the episode ‘Piece of the Action.’”

Reassured that Travis was ready for his undercover acting debut, Neal walked him out to his car and wished him luck. And he’d had a stroke of luck of his own. The information Travis had shared gave Neal some ideas for how to manipulate Robert. He’d known that Ferrari could be a key to feeding information they wanted to Robert to have, but now the details were settling into place.

He was walking back toward the mansion when a man stepped into his path. “Danny Brooks?” he asked.

The man was older, probably the age of Neal’s mother, and of Asian ancestry. He moved with authority, but had an expression of concern. His face seemed familiar. Neal had seen this man a few times as a child, always briefly. “Danny died in St. Louis on his 18th birthday.”

The man nodded in approval. “Then you must be Neal Caffrey.”

“And you used to be a U.S. Marshal.”

“Mike Chan. I have a message from Ellen Parker. She thinks you’re in danger.”

Neal wanted to trust him. That was his instinct. He remembered that Ellen had trusted him, but that had been years ago. “Does Annina Brandel know you’re here?”

“Yes. But call her to confirm. Don’t invite me in until you’re sure it’s safe.”

Neal pulled out his cell phone and called Annina. “Marshal Brandel, it’s Neal Caffrey. Sorry. I keep calling at odd hours. I’ve got a Mike Chan here.”

“That is one determined man. I told him to wait until this afternoon to give me a chance to contact you first, but he said he’d talk to you sooner if he saw an opening. He got in touch with me late yesterday afternoon and I spent most of the evening confirming his story while avoiding email. I think he’s on the level. He stayed in St. Louis after leaving the Marshals, working in a security business – the same one that employed Ellen Parker, in fact. I checked with my counterpart in St. Louis. You mentioned him: Simon Preston. He says Mike has been dating Ellen since leaving the Marshals, so he’s been on our radar. Everything checks out.”

“Thanks,” said Neal. He ended the call and said to Mike, “Let’s get you some coffee.”

They were barely inside the mansion when his cell phone rang. He wasn’t surprised to hear Graham Winslow’s voice. The Bureau had stopped tracking him, but Graham and Julia were still keeping watch and sending updates to Henry. “You’ve been talking to the Marshals,” he said. “Should I send help?”

“Not yet, but I’m still gathering information. Can you call me back, say in an hour?” When Graham agreed, Neal hung up and shrugged in Mike’s direction. “You’re causing a bit of a commotion. One more call to make, and then we can talk.”

Peter answered in a rush. “Neal, are you OK?”

“Yeah. No big deal, but the Marshals have sent someone over. He used to be assigned to my family in St. Louis, and he says he has some news. I’m not sure how long this will take, but I’ll probably miss the morning briefing.”

“You need any help? I could send Jones over.”

“No. I’m fine.”

Neal could hear the ding of the elevator. Peter must have arrived at the 21st floor. “One of these days we’re going to set up a panic phrase so I can be certain you actually mean that.”

“We’re just going to talk, Peter. What could go wrong?”

“Yep, that’s it. That’s the phrase that makes me panic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still mining Casablanca for character names. Carlson comes from Carl, and Berger and Lund are also from the movie. 
> 
> Disclaimers: I’m not a legal expert, and not a hacker. I have intentionally glossed over those elements. I picked Deloitte as a massive, well-known company in IT services and auditing; selecting them is not meant to be a commentary on them or their business practices.  
> Many thanks to Silbrith for her Star Trek expertise and memory of specific episodes. She was a tremendous help for the scenes with Travis. That character also plays a role in her story The Queen’s Jewels, if you’d like to read more about him.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Peter and Neal have taken a positive step forward, but they still have room to grow. In the next chapter we get a little more about Neal’s past in St. Louis, and some progress on the plan to capture Robert.


	23. Danny Boy

**June’s mansion. Thursday morning. July 8, 2004.**

The arrival of former U.S. Marshal Mike Chan had created quite a stir. After confirming with Marshal Brandel that it was safe to talk to the guy, assuring Graham Winslow that all was well, and letting Peter know he’d be late for work, Neal finally had a chance to lead Mike to the dining room. June’s efficient staff had already cleared the breakfast plates, but there was still a pot of coffee and Neal grabbed two coffee cups and poured.

He studied Mike carefully. He’d never met anyone who knew him as Danny Brooks outside of St. Louis; seeing this man in New York felt surreal. Memories were roiling to the surface. He handed Mike a cup of coffee, paced over to the sideboard and back again. Then he forced himself to stand by a chair. He was still too rattled to sit.

“Your mother did that,” Mike said. “She was a pacer.”

Neal nodded, as a memory of her pacing jumped into his mind. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t get details, not being with the Marshals anymore. She left St. Louis years ago. But Ellen would hear if anything happened to her.”

“This danger you mentioned… Are they safe?”

“Both of them have been moved to temporary safe houses while the threat is evaluated. The Marshals said you were aware of the threat, but Ellen asked me to talk to you personally and make sure you take it seriously.”

Neal finally sat down. “The only threat I know about is someone working with my uncle Robert Winslow hacking into the Marshals’ email. I saw him watching me a few days ago. I thought witness locations weren’t shared in email. What’s the threat to Ellen and my mom?”

“They both got postcards this week, sent to their current addresses and their pre-WITSEC names. Postmark was in St. Louis. The message on each was: _I’m keeping an eye on your boy. Hope to see you soon_.”

Neal took in a sharp breath. He knew that Robert, with Henry’s help, had figured out Neal’s WITSEC name and location when he was a boy. From there finding Ellen’s address wouldn’t have been difficult and she’d never moved, out of hope that Neal might return home. But his mother had moved. Even Neal didn’t know where she lived. How… He frowned. Had she continued calling her sister Noelle each Christmas? That’s how Robert had tracked them down the first time, by looking at the phone calls to Noelle. He could have pulled that information before he left Win-Win.

Chances were that Robert wouldn’t waste time going after either Ellen or Neal’s mom. He had his hands full already, and simply wanted to distract Neal. This was probably in retaliation for Neal’s recent disappearances from New York. Neal vowed to himself that he’d find ways to keep Robert too busy to bother anyone else. “I’ll take care of it,” Neal said grimly. “I don’t know if anyone told you, but I work for the FBI now. I have resources, not to mention a boss who would be more than happy to monitor my comings and goings if that’s necessary.” Neal cringed at the idea of actually _asking_ to be tracked in order to give Ellen peace of mind. That would be a last resort. “But more importantly, I’ve recently gotten involved in the search for Robert. I have a plan to stop him.”

“Is it safe?” Mike asked.

“Yeah. He won’t come anywhere near Ellen. And as long as Mom isn’t in the Seattle area, he won’t be around to bother her, either.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m in contact with the Marshals. I know Ellen and Deirdre are safe.”

Hearing his mother called _Deirdre_ took a moment of adjustment. That was her name in WITSEC: Deirdre Brooks. But all the Caffreys called her by her birth name of Meredith. They might not even know what name she used now. Neal looked at Mike and blinked. He’d missed the last thing the man had said. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked if this plan is safe for you. Ellen was worried someone would be tempted to use you as bait, and I think it’s a legitimate concern.”

“Perfectly safe. The first part’s all electronic. Think of it as computerized sleight of hand that will send Robert on a wild goose chase.” Neal smiled his best _trust-me_ smile.

“So the danger’s in the second part?”

It would seem Mike knew Neal’s tricks. He hadn’t been lulled by the innocuous first part of the plan or the con man smile. Neal sighed.

Mike chuckled.

“What?”

“You always sighed like that when you felt put upon.”

“I didn’t think you were around often enough to learn stuff like that. I remember seeing you a few times, but Mom usually sent me to my room when you came to the house.”

“There were plenty of times I watched over you during outings. I saw you in restaurants, movie theaters, grocery stores, even school events. And there were times we put up cameras in the living room of your home. When your mom’s drinking got bad, we were concerned that she might put all three of you at risk.”

“Did Mom know about the cameras?”

“Yes. And about the monitoring of her phone records and even her mail sometimes. Going into WITSEC involves giving up a lot of privacy in return for a shot at safety. It’s a compromise, and not everyone can tolerate it.”

Neal often found it difficult to empathize with his mother, but right now he could. The tracking by Peter sounded like a small taste of what she had to endure. Shaking away that thought, he studied Mike with the care he might use for a model for a painting. Seeing him and hearing his voice brought distant memories to the forefront of his mind with stunning clarity. “Usually you stayed in the background, but when I was in the hospital you spent a lot of time in my room.”

“That’s right. Your mom was losing it. She was horrified at how badly you’d been hurt, and was spiraling into guilt. She dealt with it by drinking to forget. I was concerned she’d go on a drinking binge and spill your real identities to a bunch of strangers. I watched you and Ellen while another Marshal kept your mom under control until we could get her into rehab.” Mike finished his coffee. “Ellen said you usually didn’t remember being in the hospital or what put you there, other than the occasional flashback. I hope I didn’t trigger one. Those were some dark times. I was kind of glad you forgot about it.”

“I talked to a psychologist a few months ago, started some therapy when the flashbacks happened more frequently. Finally it all came back to me.” Neal glossed over the trauma of the return of those memories. He’d been lucky to have Noelle, Henry and Peter there for him when it happened. “At least, I thought it had, but there’s something else…” He focused on an elusive memory swimming in the depths of his mind. “A hospital? No. An ambulance. But I passed out before they got me to the ambulance when I was nine, and that was in the morning. What I’m remembering was at night.” He paused. There was only one other time he knew of that he’d been loaded into an ambulance in those WITSEC days. He thought he’d been unconscious the whole time, but he must have come around at least a few seconds. “What were you doing at the lake the night I drowned?”

“Ellen called me that night, as soon as you left the house. She said she’d told you everything: the fact that you were all in WITSEC, the fact that your father was a confessed murderer and not the hero your mother had led you to believe he was. You’d driven off and Ellen was worried about your state of mind. She knew some of your favorite places to drive when you wanted to unwind. The road along that lake was the most dangerous, winding and slick from the rain that evening. I told her I’d go up there, keep an eye on you if I could find you. I was right behind you when your car slid off the road into the lake.”

It all came together. The life-saving rescue had been due to Ellen’s concern. “You were the one who dove into the lake to pull me out, and then did CPR until the ambulance arrived.” He looked at Mike, amazed. “How do I ever thank you?”

“Just keep yourself safe so Ellen doesn’t have to worry. And that takes us back to the second part of your plan that you’re avoiding telling me about.”

Neal wondered if Peter would get to be this annoying in a few years. It was a good reminder not to become too predictable. Otherwise Peter would constantly be second guessing him and not letting him get away with anything. “The second part is the actual arrest when Robert takes the bait in that wild goose chase I mentioned. The challenge will be taking him by surprise. If he’s expecting us, he’ll start shooting as soon as he sees he’s surrounded by the FBI.”

“ _Us_? You plan to be there for that? Marshal Brandel told me you’re a consultant, not an agent. Shouldn’t you let the professionals deal with this guy?”

Suppressing the urge to argue his right to be there, Neal tried another tactic. When all else fails, befuddle the opponent with Mozzie-isms. “A friend of mine has a philosophical bent. He’d say that when you save someone’s life, you take on a sense of responsibility – even ownership – for that life and how it’s used. Do you think you’re culpable for all the mistakes I’ve made since you pulled me out of that lake? And do you get credit for all the good I’ve done in the last seven years?”

“No. You were an adult, responsible for your own actions. But that doesn’t mean I can’t weigh in with some advice for someone younger and less experienced than me. I get wanting to be in on the action. You want to see for yourself that this guy is stopped, and to help if you can. But I also get the other side. You have people who love you, and who would be devastated if you took a foolish risk and died. You’ve got to be wondering why I’m here, right? Ellen could have told the Marshals about the postcard and then let them pass on word to you. In WITSEC, it’s not like she can come here and see for herself that you take the danger seriously.”

“But she can send you,” Neal said. “Someone to give the warning in person, who can watch my reaction and then go back to assure her that I’ll be careful.” When Mike nodded Neal added, “I don’t want to lie to you, even if that might make everyone feel better. If I think I can stop Robert, then I’m willing to take a few calculated risks. I’m not planning to take foolish risks, but someone who’s worried about me might have a different perception of what’s foolish and what’s acceptable.” He glanced at his watch.

“You need to get to work?”

“Yeah. How long are you in town? I’d like to talk to you again before you leave.”

They made arrangements to meet for dinner that evening, and then walked out of the mansion together. Mike caught a cab back to his hotel, and Neal went to the Federal Building. Before going inside he called Mozzie to put a few more twists on the ideas they had discussed the night before.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The morning briefing had ended before Neal arrived. He stopped by Jones’ desk, needing his expertise for a portion of the plan he had in mind to catch Robert. As they talked through the options, he noticed his own reluctance to draw out the conversation beyond the details pertinent to the case. He’d suspected almost from his first day at the FBI that Jones had been assigned to befriend and watch him, but knowing the extent of it was uncomfortable. It’s not that he’d had anything to hide, but it was weird that this agent knew so much about his day-to-day life.

The discomfort was particularly evident in contrast to the time he’d spent earlier in the morning helping Travis prepare for an undercover assignment. Neal and Travis didn’t know each other well, probably had little in common, and yet that acquaintance wasn’t burdened with the secrets of his supposed friendship with Jones. He honestly didn’t know if he and Jones were now or ever really had been friends. Maybe it had all been an assignment from Jones’ point of view.

It occurred to Neal that now he knew how it felt to be the victim of a long con. He couldn’t say he liked it. In fact, he was glad his own long cons had been limited to working for Adler and the Masterson con.

He made a few final notes and then glanced up at Peter’s office, to see if he was available. Peter was standing at the open door to his office looking down at the bullpen. He caught Neal’s eye and stepped forward to the half wall. “Neal, if you’re ready to describe your plans for the Winslow case, let’s meet with Jones in the conference room.”

Neal nodded and stepped away from Jones’ desk. Jones stood and said, “Hey, Caffrey, before we go up there…”

“Yeah?”

Jones glanced around the bullpen. It was relatively empty. “Soon after I started this job, I accepted that sometimes I have to do things that people won’t like. And they might be people that outside of work I’d be friends with. I decided I’d do the job to the best of my ability and never apologize for it, because I believe in what I’m doing. But this time… I’m sorry, man. I guess I don’t have what it takes to be a con artist, because I hated misleading a friend. I know you probably don’t want to be buddies right now, but I hope you can trust me to have your back, at least when it comes to the job.”

There was still a pang of bitterness that Neal realized would take a while to fade, but Jones’ words were welcome. “Thanks. And just so you know, I might not have realized the full extent of what you were doing, but I always knew you were up to something.”

“Really?” Jones didn’t sound convinced.

“Did you expect me to believe a straight arrow like you would willingly hang out with a confessed criminal for reasons other than surveillance?” He said it with a hint of a smile, letting Jones know he was willing to forgive, even if trust would take longer.

“Hey, I helped you move into that loft. That’s four stories, man. I didn’t have to do all that just to figure out your new address. I could have faked a sprain or something to get out of that after the first five minutes.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

In the conference room dedicated to the Winslow case, Peter tried not to worry about the conversation Neal and Jones were having. He’d realized that Jones was feeling some guilt over his part in monitoring Neal, now that the junior agent had a chance to step back and think about what they’d done. Peter had been glad that Neal had found friends in the team, and regretted that assigning Jones to monitor him might have undermined one of those friendships. So he would be patient if the two of them wanted a chance to talk things through.

A few minutes later they arrived carrying cups of coffee. They weren’t joking as they might have been in the past, but they weren’t glaring or avoiding each other, either. Peter would take that as a positive sign.

Once they were seated, Neal opened with a question. “Have you heard of Vernon Heinemann?”

“That name sounds familiar,” Jones said. He opened his laptop and started a search.

“I met him,” Peter said. “He was in academia at the time, but working on some government projects. He spoke to my class at Quantico. He’s a software expert, with an interest in algorithms for matching evidence to people. He pioneered improvements in fingerprint analysis that help us get more accurate hits from partial matches, but what he was most excited about was getting usable data from those cheap, low resolution video feeds that most surveillance systems use. I’m surprised we haven’t seen any innovations in that area yet. He made it sound like he was on the brink of a major breakthrough.”  

“He was,” Jones confirmed, looking up from his search results. “At least, he claims to have developed a new facial recognition algorithm that could be used reliably even with those low res feeds, but...” He trailed off when Neal’s phone buzzed.

Neal shrugged. “Graham Winslow.” He didn’t look surprised that he was calling. “Mind if I put him on speaker?”

“Go ahead,” Peter said, curious what their Win-Win liaison wanted.

“Mr. Winslow,” Neal said when he answered the phone. “I’ve got Agents Burke and Jones with me. I was about to fill them in on my ideas for catching Robert, and I’d like you to hear, too.”

“I thought I told you to call me Pops.”

“Of course. I’ll –”

“Is this meeting I’ve stumbled into going to cover why you called a U.S. Marshal this morning?” Graham interrupted.

Neal’s conversation with a Marshal was something Peter was also interested in, and he promised, “It will if I have anything to say about it.” He recapped a background of Vernon Heinemann and then asked Neal, “What does this have to do with finding Robert?”

“I’d like to try manipulating Robert by getting to his accomplice. Now that we have an agent undercover at the company where we think that accomplice works, I’d like to try an experiment. Tonight I want to make it look like Henry sent an email to my FBI address. And then a minute later recall that message, as if he’d accidentally sent it to my work address instead of to a personal address that wouldn’t be monitored.”

“But a copy of the message will stay on the server,” Jones said. “The accomplice will be certain to open it.”

“And pass it along to Robert, if we’re lucky,” Neal added.

“That’s why you were asking me about viruses this morning,” Jones continued. “You want us to include something in that email to track who opens it. We can get data back about IP addresses, at least for the accomplice, and probably for Robert, too. It can’t be anything malicious, or the email servers would filter it out, but I think I can get what you’re looking for.”

“What’s going to be in this email that would prompt the accomplice to forward it along?” Peter asked.

“A link to an article about Heinemann and his facial recognition technology. And the words _Got him_.”

Peter smiled. “Coming from Henry, those words could refer to Heinemann, or to Robert.”

“Or the accomplice,” Neal added. “Here’s where I’m going with this. The U.S. Marshals have joined the game, officially. We’re hiding the fact that they know their email has been hacked, but not the fact that postcards were sent to my mother and Ellen – sent to their current addresses but with their pre-WITSEC names. I know from stories Henry told me that Robert taught him investigative skills by tracking me down when I was in WITSEC. He’s probably had Ellen’s address for years, and would have used similar methods to track down my mom’s current location. I’m sure his goal was to rattle me, but as a result now he has another agency looking for him, and –”

“Hold on there,” Graham said. “You’re saying Robert used Win-Win resources to track down people who were in Witness Protection?”

“Yeah,” Neal affirmed. “When Henry was 14. You didn’t know?”

“You’re damn right I didn’t know. We don’t have all the stifling regulations of the FBI, but we aren’t a bunch of loose cannons, either. As soon as we wrap up this call I’ll talk to Allen Winston about how to uncover and prevent that kind of abuse. That is not what my father intended this company to be about, and I’m not going to let anyone think I condone something like that.”

“Let me know if I can help,” Peter offered. The FBI had been concerned ever since two rogue agents started Win-Win in the 1960s that the company could cause trouble. His recent friendship with Graham and Henry was encouraged from the upper ranks of the Bureau in the hopes that he could provide insight into what they were up to, and influence them away from potentially illegal behavior. “Neal, what were you saying about the Marshals?”

“We can have them mention this postcard incident in emails, naming Robert as the prime suspect. It’s possible this accomplice – Ferrari – isn’t aware of what Robert did. If he’s acting on the assumption that Robert is a good guy and a victim, this could shake him up and leave him open to seeing things our way.”

“You think Ferrari really believes that?” Jones asked.

“I think it’s very likely. Robert spent years on his image as a good husband, father and employee, all toward a goal of being considered worthy of leading Win-Win. Remember even Agent Hitchum thought they were protecting the Bureau from the evil that I embodied. It stands to reason Robert’s current accomplice thinks that he’s helping to protect an admirable, innocent man.”

“You want to undermine that belief,” Peter said.

“Slowly and carefully. Otherwise he’ll realize he’s the subject of a campaign. We start with him getting that report from the Marshals. The email from Henry will seem to be unrelated at first. But the Marshals will ask Peter – in email – for the traffic cam footage that shows Robert and his accomplice in Seattle. Peter will provide it but with the warning that it’s too grainy to make a positive identification.”

“But Heinemann’s software could make an ID,” added Jones, “if it lives up to the rumors.”

“Exactly.” Neal grinned. “The link in the email will be to an article in an esteemed scientific journal published three years ago. It reports Heinemann’s success in making matches from exactly that kind of footage.”

“If it’s so successful, how come I’ve never heard of it?” Graham objected.

“Because he suddenly retired and became some kind of recluse,” Jones explained. “That’s what my search on his name found. After 9/11 and the Patriot Act, he had a change of heart. He said he was concerned about how his technology would be used if he turned it over to the government. He claimed he couldn’t support the lack of privacy that could result, and he ended the project. Since then he’s made an effort to go off the grid. There’s a note in his file that he’d mentioned he’d like to live in Alaska, but there’s no current address listed.”

“Sometimes saying you’re unwilling to turn your results over to the government is code for thinking you could get more money from the private sector,” Graham mused. “Not a lot of companies are ready for that kind of technology yet, but in a decade there could be a big demand for reliable facial recognition software. He could make a lot of money if he holds out.”

“Some companies might be willing to make him a good deal now,” Neal suggested. “Maybe a generous licensing fee and an offer to help market his software to other companies in the future. A scientist might be overwhelmed at those aspects, but Winston-Winslow could help him out, right?”

“Not bad, you scalawag,” said Graham. “Convince Robert we’ve tracked this guy down and paid him to help us, and at the same time convince his accomplice that his anonymity is at risk. Who knows, maybe I really could find this Heinemann and make him an offer to join Win-Win.”

A whirlwind of possibilities were swirling though Peter’s mind. This is what you got when Neal was at his best and on the same page with you. It was exciting and incredible, but you had to be careful not to be swept away. “Tell me about this link to the article you want to include in the email, Neal. There must have been many articles written about Heinemann and his research. Why this link, specifically?”

The breathless pace of the conversation turned to silence as all eyes turned toward Neal. “Well, do you remember an article by Dante Haversham that appeared in the newspaper the day after you tried to recruit me?”

Peter forced himself not to sigh. Mozzie had hacked a major newspaper to plant an article about the government reneging on promises of immunity. “Did he write this article, too?”

“No, it’s the real deal. But he may have, shall we say, _insight_ into the traffic going to that article. He called it _click-stream analysis,_ and said something about cookies.”

“That’s cutting-edge,” said Graham. “Pretty soon sites will have to warn visitors about all the data they can collect when you visit their site, including information about other sites you visit before and after. Consumer protection groups are just starting to understand how much data is being collected and how it’s used.”

“Does Robert know about it?” Peter wondered.

“That wasn’t really his area. He preferred more old-fashioned methods of investigation. He may have heard it mentioned, but he wouldn’t have understood the implications. And he sure wouldn’t care what a site like this collects about him.”

Jones looked excited. “Peter, this could be a major turning point in the case. It could mean a flood of information about Robert and his accomplice, unlike anything we’ve been able to get.”

“But can we use it?” Peter asked. “What’s the legal position on using this kind of data to get the information we need to track and arrest a suspect?”

“Well, he would have visited the site of his own free will. Their privacy policy would have been posted, although most people don’t bother to read those.” Jones tapped his fingers on the table as he thought. “I think the issue would center around whether the owner of the site is willing to share their data with us. What journal was it?”

Neal shrugged. “The link actually leads to a spoofed version of the site that a friend of mine owns. I can get his agreement to let us have the data he collects.”

Peter gave up and sighed. “Jones, take it up with the legal team. Let them know it’s urgent. If we can kick off the first salvo in the email campaign today, Agent Miller might be able to get eyes on the accomplice while he’s in Atlanta.”

Jones sped off, eager to talk to the lawyers. With his degree from Harvard Law, he actually found those conversations invigorating. Yet another reason he was a good fit for the team. This afternoon Peter would conduct phone interviews with the top candidates for the probie vacancy, and he hoped he found someone who would be an equally good fit for the team.

They said goodbye to Graham, and then Peter said, “So, you’re calling him _Pops_ now.”

Neal shrugged. “He asked me to at my birthday party. I accused him of wanting me to feel like a member of the Winslow family so it would be easier to recruit me into Win-Win someday, and he didn’t deny it. You know, he’s a lot more like Henry than I realized. I learned over the weekend that Graham likes to bring couples together, see them get married, and then yesterday Henry was taking credit for getting me and Sara together by sending us to volunteer at the same shelter.”

“And Graham likes to recruit people, match them up with the right job,” Peter added. “Looks like that helpful busybody gene skipped Robert, huh?”

Neal shook his head slowly, as if thinking something through. “Not entirely. It just got twisted. He focused it all on Henry and on controlling him. Maybe in his mind, he thought he was helping. But Graham and Henry don’t obsess like he does. They try to help people, and if those people don’t want to hook up with the person they think is right, or they don’t want the job that’s offered, they move on to try helping someone else. Robert was fixated on a vision for Henry and wouldn’t let go.”

“Graham doesn’t seem like the type to give up. I’ll bet he’s mentioned he’d like to hire you more than once.”

“Yeah, but not a serious offer. And it’s not like he’s undermining my job here to make me accept the job he thinks I should take.”

It made Peter even more curious about what Robert had done to Henry over the years, but he wouldn’t push Neal on that topic for now. He gathered his files and was about to return to his desk but an annoying thought in the back of his head wouldn’t go away. Neal seemed distracted, a little distant. Was it because of the news from the Marshals about his mom and Ellen, or something else? “Neal, after we talked yesterday, have you had a chance… that is, are you… is there anything else you wanted to say or ask me?”

“What?” Neal looked confused.

Peter grimaced. “I talked to my brother a couple nights ago. He’s got two daughters nearly your age, and I thought he might have some advice. He told me to let you yell or snipe or whatever you needed, rather than letting you bottle up resentment. So I’m wondering if, well, if you got it all out of your system or if you need another round.”

Neal smiled slightly and shook his head. “I painted last night. That usually does the trick for me.”

“If you need to talk, or vent, let me know.” Peter walked back to his desk, not as comforted as he wanted to be. If painting and art were more than something Neal loved, but actually something he needed in his life to cope, it was even more important than Peter had initially realized for the kid to get into that program at Columbia.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

That had gone better than he’d expected. Neal had been able to provide enough detail to keep Peter satisfied, without revealing the plan to strand an Alaska-bound Robert on an island.

Most of the execution of the plan fell on Jones and Mozzie for now. They were the technical experts. That left Neal with time on his hands, which he filled by working with Agent Tricia Wiese, unravelling an investment scam that had wiped out the savings of several families. Finding the account where the suspect had hidden the money was the win of the day. “We’ve saved some college funds,” Tricia said as they wrapped up that afternoon. “That’s going to make those families very happy.”

Reminders about college were everywhere. Over his lunch hour Neal had called the Columbia offices and learned that he could pay his tuition in three installments each semester. Between his poker winnings and the money he’d earned performing as Neal Legend, he had the first installment covered. Of course he still hadn’t worked out how to pay the taxes on the gambling winnings, or what he’d tell Peter to explain the source of the money he’d earned in the Masterson con.

For now he had more immediate concerns. He met Mike Chan for dinner and tried to assure him that Ellen didn’t need to worry about him. Mike made it clear early in the meal that he wouldn’t discuss any details about the family in a public restaurant, so they traded stories about Neal’s work at the FBI and Mike’s job at the security company where Ellen worked. Mike put down a credit card as soon as the plates were removed, insisting he would pay, and soon they were on their way back to June’s mansion.

June heard them enter and greeted them. Neal introduced Mike as an old friend of the family who was in town on business, and then explained that June was his landlady.

“I was just saying how lucky Neal was to live here,” Mike said. “How did you two meet?”

June described hearing Neal sing Christmas carols when her husband Byron was in the hospital, and how he took a request to sing a Sinatra tune. She squeezed Neal’s arm. “They hit it off, and I realized Neal was exactly what Byron needed: someone to share his favorite music and listen to his stories, and take his mind off the pain. It was a comfort to my husband, and also to me to have someone else here to share in making Byron happy in his last weeks. I tried to be strong for my husband and put on a brave face, but having a partner in that effort was an answer to my prayers. My daughters helped, of course, but they don’t live in New York anymore. They couldn’t always be here.”

“It wasn’t as one-sided as that sounds,” Neal said. “Byron taught me a lot. Someone described him as a mentor, and that’s true. The fact that June still lets me live here is a gift I’m constantly grateful for.”

“We’ll never settle the argument of which of us was most blessed to meet the other. It’s lovely to meet you Mike, but I need to go. I’ve joined a group who meet Thursday evenings, and I should be on my way.”

Soon she was out the door, and Mike was following Neal upstairs. “Grief support group?” he asked.

“Poker,” Neal said. “But she used to play with Byron, so there’s probably a grief element, too.” He opened the door to his loft. “This is my space.”

Mike looked around, taking in the easel, canvases, and smell of fresh paint. “Ellen hoped you kept up with your art. She’ll be glad.”

“How is she?” Neal asked.

“Seeing you in December made a big difference. She’s less worried now, and more open to being moved away from St. Louis.” Mike took a seat on the sofa. “She asked to move to the east coast, said she missed it.”

“Will they honor that kind of request?”

“They can’t send her back to D.C., and they’ll want to avoid the mid-Atlantic. She expressed a strong preference for snow over heat and hurricanes, so there’s a good chance she’ll end up closer to you. Of course you can’t meet up with her, not on any kind of regular basis.”

Neal nodded. “What about you? Annina said you’re dating Ellen. Would you move with her?” Seeing Mike’s discomfort, Neal pressed, “Because you know I’d be less worried if you were around, and therefore less likely to pop in to check on her.”

“You really want…? She asked, but I thought maybe she’d regret it, want a fresh start.”

“I can’t imagine asking you along unless that’s what she really wanted. She’s been through the whole uprooting thing before. She knows what she’s getting into.”

Neal told a few stories about spending time with his Caffrey relatives, reinforcing the idea that he was safe and fitting into a family life. When Mike passed that along, Ellen could stop worrying about him. But he didn’t want to be too obvious about it, so he also sprinkled in stories about the Caffrey Caravan that he hoped to meet at Henry’s birthday party in August.

“Thanks for taking the time to fill me in on how you’re doing,” Mike said. “It will make Ellen happy to know you’ve landed in a good spot. I don’t know when or if I’ll get to see you again, so I need to bring up one other thing. Ellen’s been concerned for long time about what happened on your 18th birthday. She worries she overwhelmed you with all the information about your dad and WITSEC, and you never had a chance to ask any questions. She wanted me to find out if you have any. If I can answer them, I will. If not, I’ll take the questions back to her and we’ll try to get the Marshals to send along whatever information she can provide. Ellen felt you needed closure, and I’ll tell the Marshals you’ll be more stable if you get it.”

Neal leaned back in his chair and thought. Over the years Henry had filled in a lot of answers. Information about his father’s crimes would be public record if Neal ever felt the need to delve into that. “Was he guilty?”

“Your dad? Ellen said he was. She conducted her own investigation before going into WITSEC. She told me that at first she didn’t believe he would do something like that, but in the end by the time he confessed she believed the charges were valid. He really did take money from the mob and murder another cop to cover it up.”

Neal nodded. He remembered Ellen telling him on his 18th birthday that his dad had killed someone. She hadn’t called it _alleged_ or simply said he was accused. She’d sounded convinced that she was telling him the facts.

“Anything else?”

“Have you seen my birth certificate? My real one?”

“No. That wasn’t something I needed to do my job. Why?”

“I heard recently I was born in Baltimore. That seemed surprising, with my parents being from D.C.”

“You don’t think you were adopted or something?”

“No. I look a lot like my mom’s brother, and like my cousin. I’m certain I’m a Caffrey.”

“And your mother often said you had your father’s eyes. Ellen said it, too, that you had James’ eyes.” Mike thought back. “I remember seeing some of your mom’s medical records when the three of you were placed in St. Louis. She’d just had a miscarriage a few weeks earlier, and she’d had more than one before you were born. I asked Ellen about it once. She said something like how the family said you were a miracle.”

_Miracle_. His grandmother had used that word to describe him yesterday, and he hadn’t thought anything of it. “Any idea what she meant by that?”

“I can ask, but now that you’re in contact with your family they can probably answer that better than Ellen could.” Mike stood. “I should get going. I know Ellen would love to have a picture of you but the Marshals wouldn’t let her keep it. A message is pretty much all I can take back with me.”

Neal stood up, too. “I’d like to thank her for looking after me, especially when Mom was in rehab. Ellen made it look easy, but I realize now that taking on responsibility for a son is a lot of work, and stressful, too. I don’t know if anyone even gave her a choice in the matter.”

“She was happy to do it, believe me. And sad to see you go.”

“Yeah.” Neal remembered what he’d learned in St. Louis in December. Danny Brooks had been declared dead after his car was found in the lake and the Marshals had failed to find Neal. “She had to plan my funeral. You told her from the start I wasn’t really dead, right?”

“She knew. But she also knew the chances of ever seeing you again were miniscule, so her grief was real.”

Neal ran his hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry. I needed to get away, but I wish I’d handled it differently.”

Mike put a hand on Neal’s shoulder. “I doubt there was a good way. She understood. But in the funeral, when they played ‘Danny Boy,’ she couldn’t hold it together. That song still makes her cry.” Mike took a deep breath. “Take care of yourself. When it comes to those calculated risks you mentioned this morning, make sure you remember you aren’t alone. Use all the resources at your disposal. I don’t want to attend your funeral a second time.”

Late at night, alone in the loft, Neal picked up his guitar and played “Danny Boy.” His departure from St. Louis had meant a new beginning, bringing Henry and eventually more of his family back into his life. But it had come at the cost of his old life, and he’d never properly mourned that loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: I’m not familiar with the level of tracking of protected witnesses by Marshals, and I’m not a legal expert. What’s in this story is meant for dramatic purposes, and not intended to be an accurate representation.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her research about timeframes for students to pay their tuition at Columbia.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. In the next chapter, Neal sees his grandparents before they leave on their diplomatic mission, and we’ll also learn the name of Robert’s accomplice.


	24. Outflanked

**Pierre Hotel.  Saturday morning.  July 10, 2004.**

The Pierre Hotel had an old world charm.  In his con artist days, Neal would have hung out in places like this looking for victims.  Now he was here visiting his grandparents.  They’d arrived last night and would leave Sunday for Switzerland, taking Noelle with them.  Irene was disappointed but not surprised that he declined a last-minute invitation to travel with them.

When he’d first met his grandparents in the spring, Neal had been somewhat dazzled by his grandmother.  Her beauty, charm, stage presence and buoyant joy were irresistible, but now that he knew what to expect he’d be immune, right?  But somehow he felt swept away again as she led him through stories that meandered through his own childhood and his mother’s, and even some tales of Irene’s youth, building a bridge of experiences that connected him to multiple generations of family.  

The buzz of Neal’s cell phone broke the spell, bringing him back to reality.  With an apology to his grandmother he answered, “Yeah?”  He walked out onto a terrace.

“Neal, may you live long and prosper.”

“What?  Oh, wait, Travis?  Is the away team mission over?”

“Yeah, I got home last night, and wanted to let you know it was a success.  Your advice and wardrobe assistance get most of the credit.  I took the suits to a drycleaners, and they’ll be ready by 1:00.  What would be a good time to return them?”

Edmund had just placed an order for room service to bring up lunch so they could dine in privacy.  “I’ll be at the Pierre Hotel the next several hours.  You want to drop by around 2:00?”  Neal gave Travis the room number.

Friday had been productive.  Julia Winslow had sent Neal her analysis of the Masterson financial statements.  He hadn’t had a chance to study it in detail, but it was clear that the company was hiding international revenues, and Julia said their online sales were also understated.  She found that payments to musical artists were lower than they should be, and it would appear that they received almost no percentage of international and online sales.  The company reported that piracy ate up almost all profits in those areas and Julia agreed that most music companies suffered in that area, but not to the extent Masterson claimed.  She said she had another hypothesis to investigate and would get back to him with more data in a few days.

Also on Friday, Angela had called to say that Henry had embraced Neal’s plans to move the Masterson con along faster.  She’d given an interview as Grace after a performance in Montreal, and would be in Toronto today.  She mentioned flying home to D.C. Sunday to spend time with her mom. 

And now Travis was making progress toward identifying Robert’s accomplice.  Everything was coming together as Neal intended.  All the pieces of his intricate chess match were in play, bringing Henry, Robert and Masterson where he wanted them.  And the Bureau still thought it was simply a game of Find the Lady.

Neal returned from the terrace full of confidence and prepared to enjoy his time with his grandparents.

Noelle arrived shortly before lunch was delivered, her arms loaded with shopping bags from several upscale clothing stores.  She leaned down to drop a kiss on top of Neal’s head as she swept past the sofa to drop her purchases in her room.  Then she joined them for the meal, bringing the conversation around to international travels.  Noelle, her parents and Neal reminisced about favorite European destinations.  Much of Neal’s time in Europe had been spent in planning and committing crimes, so he didn’t go into much detail about his own travels.  Neal learned that his mother had loved beaches, while Noelle had a fondness for skiing and winter destinations.  Neal, of course, had been drawn to the great art museums, and Irene had enjoyed theaters and opera houses.   Edmund and his son David had had a preference for hiking, and Edmund also admitted that he made a habit of sneaking away to local pubs when he was on assignment.  “It’s useful to know local sentiment, in addition to the official party line.  There’s nothing like listening to the conversation in the pubs and public spaces to get a perspective on the issues of the day.”

“And nothing like a knack for picking up languages and accents to get people to open up to you,” Neal added.  He’d learned today that being multilingual was something he had in common with his grandfather.

Edmund nodded, acknowledging that had been a help.  “Meredith had that talent, too.  I could take her to a park and the locals would be charmed by her accent, and then would sit about and gossip.  As long as I was carrying a little girl, people assumed I was harmless.”  He glanced at Noelle.  “And when I tried to wrangle twin girls, the world was my oyster.  Many a stone-faced politician melted at the sight of the twins and started prattling away.  Then in later years it was visits from my grandchildren that broke the ice.  It’s a pity I haven’t any great-grandchildren to take on this latest venture.”

Neal looked at his grandmother, curious what she would say.  “I’m too young to be a great grandmother,” she said calmly.

Noelle smiled at Neal.  “She used to say that about being a grandmother, too.  But she didn’t complain when Henry was born.  In fact, she was so busy showing him off to her friends on every visit that sometimes I worried she’d try to keep him when I returned home.  It was a relief when you were born so she had a local grandchild to dote on.”

“A relief to poor Meredith, too,” Irene added.  “You must understand, Neal, the twins did almost everything together.  Even as adults, they met their husbands, got engaged and got married within months of each other.  It was barely a week after Noelle told us she was pregnant that Meredith made the same announcement.  My own pregnancies had gone so smoothly it never occurred to me that either of my girls would have issues.  But by the time Henry was born, Meredith had suffered two miscarriages.  And yet for all her own heartache, Meredith was always happy when Noelle brought Henry to visit.”

Noelle picked up the story about her sister.  “She had a friend who was a fashion designer, specializing in looks for children.  She had a sideline in outrageous onesies, and she’d lend them to Meredith.  When we visited I’d put Henry down for a nap in a boring outfit, and return to find he’d been transformed into a lion or tiger or some other creature.  He never seemed to mind wearing the costumes as long as they didn’t impede his ability to get around.  He simply chuckled at my reaction when I’d see him.”

“Robert was less pleased,” Irene recalled.

“Robert was an idiot,” Noelle said.  “He was too concerned with being dignified and manly to have fun.”

Irene nodded.  “David was a much better sport.  Meredith liked to put Angela into bunny outfits.”

“There was that cow phase,” Noelle added.

“Very true, but to get back to the original story, as much as Meredith enjoyed your visits, she always cried after you left.  She so longed for a child of her own and a nephew simply wasn’t the same.”

It was the perfect opening.  “Last weekend I met Julia Winslow.  She mentioned I was born in Baltimore.  How did that happen?”

“I told you he didn’t know,” Irene said.

“Know what?” Neal asked.

Noelle took a sip of water, watching him closely.  Then she asked, “Did your mother ever mention how you were conceived?”

“Huh?  Ew.  No,” he said automatically.  He paused and studied his aunt.  She couldn’t have meant what he’d first thought.  “This isn’t going to get X-rated, is it?”

Irene giggled, and Noelle blushed slightly.  “No, that’s not what I meant.  Meredith went to a doctor to understand the medical issues and her options.  He told her about work being done by fertility specialists in England.  In the end she and James went there.  In fact, we made a family vacation of it.  Mom and Dad had friends they wanted to visit in London, and I went along with Henry.”  Noelle paused to reach forward and brush back a lock of Neal’s hair.  “Your parents wanted you very much, sweetie.  Meredith would have done almost anything to have you.”

“And Baltimore?” Neal asked.

“My obstetrician had been excellent, and was one of the few females in the field in those days.  Meredith and I talked a lot about the pregnancy and what to expect, and I’d been so pleased with my experiences when Henry was born that we decided to use the same doctor and hospital for your birth, too.”

“We?” Neal repeated.  He knew little about childbirth or the bond between twin sisters, and he still didn’t grasp why this was being described as a joint decision.  He was torn between wanting to know more, and feeling somewhat squeamish about the topic. 

It was something of a relief to be interrupted by a knock on the door as Travis arrived to return Henry’s suits.  Initially baffled and befuddled to meet the actress known as Irene Randolph, he was soon swept under her spell as she recounted memories of her brief time on the _Star Trek_ set.  He didn’t stay long, and all Neal learned about the undercover op was that Travis had gotten the information he’d been assigned to gather and Jones had narrowed down the list to three suspects.

With Travis’ departure, Noelle told Neal it was time for their session.  They were meeting every other week now, so it had been a while since they’d talked as therapist and patient.  They sat on the terrace for privacy, but before the session could officially start Neal asked Noelle if Henry had contacted her.  She’d seemed somewhat distracted earlier, and he’d started to wonder if Henry hadn’t followed through on his promise.  Perhaps his mother was still worried about him.  But at the mention of Henry’s name, she smiled with genuine happiness.  “I was scheduled to be in a conference in Los Angeles a few days ago.  Graham strongly advised me at the last minute to spend a day in San Francisco before returning home, and I’m so glad I did!  It did me a world of good to see Henry for myself.  He mentioned some plans for finding Robert, and admitted that the best ideas had come from you.  It sounds like things will be put into motion soon; he was pleased to know my parents and I will be out of the country and beyond Robert’s immediate reach in case things go wrong.”

“Do you have any advice for us?  I thought you might know how we can avoid a gun fight and get Robert to surrender quietly when he realizes he can’t get away.”

“The best way would be to capture him when he isn’t armed.  The next best would be to capture him when Henry isn’t around.  Their emotions and resentment toward each other makes it difficult to get either of them to be rational when they’re together.”  She opened her notebook.  “But we’re here to talk about you.  Henry said you told him about being accepted into Columbia.  Have you told everyone else?”

Neal shook his head. 

“Why not?”

He shrugged.  “There’s so much going on right now, and the school year seems to be right around the corner.  Catching Robert and supporting Henry is more important, and I can’t be certain that will be wrapped up before classes start.  I’ve been thinking about asking to defer my start for a semester, or even for a year.”

“I can see why you want to support Henry, and it’s good of you.  But I understood you aren’t part of the case to capture Robert.  Why should that have any bearing on your plans for graduate school?”

He couldn’t tell her about the upcoming Masterson con, because she didn’t know her son was Shawn Legend.  Instead he latched onto another reason.  “I feel partially responsible for Robert going off the deep end.  If I hadn’t become a part of Henry’s life again, maybe things would be different.  I know I made Robert angry, irrationally so, and he took some of that out on Henry.”

“You may have influenced the timing slightly, but you aren’t to blame for the difficulties between Henry and his father.”

“I made it worse,” Neal insisted.

“I’m not convinced that’s a bad thing,” Noelle said.  “A coldly rational Robert who was jealous of Henry’s success at Win-Win might have simply arranged an accident that took Henry’s life.  We’d have lost him and perhaps never known why.  An irrationally angry Robert means we still have Henry.”

“You can’t know that.”

“No, I can’t.  But I can tell you that Robert’s relationship with Henry was rocky for a very long time, and it was Robert’s fault, not yours.  I was in denial myself for several years, because there was still love between them amidst the animosity and I thought if we could just hold onto that love we could cure the rest.  I was wrong.”  She paused.  “Do you have any memories of Robert from before you went into WITSEC?”

Neal thought back.  “When I met him again his voice sounded familiar, but that’s it.” 

“Did you know Meredith had another miscarriage, a few weeks before the Marshals took you away?”

“Yeah.  I’d heard about that.”

“The combination of physical and emotional distress was overwhelming for her.  Mom took care of her for a few days, and I brought you to Baltimore to stay with us.  You were three years old, Henry a few months from turning six.”  She paused.  “You weren’t aware of what was going on – with either of your parents – but the stresses were getting to you.  I didn’t notice it at first as you and Henry were tearing around the house in pure, rambunctious little boy mode.  Early in the day Henry had pulled several pots out of the kitchen cabinets and was giving you drumming lessons.”

Neal grinned.  “I remember that part.  He was so proud of himself.  And I thought he was the most awesome thing ever.”

“The most noisy, at any rate.  That’s why I was worried that afternoon when I realized you’d both been quiet for some time.  I went looking and found Henry sitting on the living room floor, playing more quietly than I’d ever seen.  You were beside him, leaning on his shoulder and asleep, and he was determined not to disturb you.  When I picked you up I realized you were running a mild fever.  I gave you something to bring down your temperature and told Henry how proud I was of him, watching after you like that.  I realized that in addition to being bright and bold and loud, he was also sweet, and I felt so lucky that he was my son.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too,” Neal said.

Noelle reached over and squeezed his hand.  “You fell asleep again as we were finishing dinner, and I took you down the hall, planning to put you in the guest room.  Henry insisted you stay in his room.  It was a more cheerful space, and I thought it probably would be less jarring for you to wake up in a room designed for a child.  Well, Henry _supervised_ putting you to bed.  He’d decided that I should put you at the foot of his bed, and in fact you were both so small that I didn’t have to worry that you’d kick each other in your sleep.  While I was getting you into your pajamas, Henry took every single stuffed animal he owned out of his toy box and finally selected one he wanted me to tuck into bed with you.  A brown dog, as I recall.  I think we ended up sending it back home with you.”

“We took it to St. Louis.  I remember it.  I…”  He blinked as it came back to him.  “I called it _Henry_.”

“Oh, my.  If we tell him, he’d be so full of himself.”

“Let’s keep it a secret,” Neal suggested.

Noelle nodded.  “Before I turned out the lights, I kissed you on your forehead.  Henry immediately demanded to know why I kissed you goodnight differently than I kissed him.  I explained that in addition to letting you know that you were loved, I was also brushing my lips across your brow to see if you felt hot, because that could mean you weren’t feeling well and needed more medicine.  I wasn’t sure how much of that he understood, but he seemed satisfied and we went through getting him ready for bed, too.  After the customary kiss on the cheek he was ready to sleep.  I went back to the living room, and about an hour later I checked in on you.  You were clearly having a nightmare, whimpering and restless.  Henry had slipped out of bed and stood beside you.  You must have woken him, and he was worried.  He checked for a fever the way I had.  He noticed the door open, and he looked up at me and said you needed more medicine.  Before I could step in to check for myself, Robert started yelling over my shoulder.”

“Why?”

“He was incensed at the thought of his son kissing another boy.”

Neal looked at her in shock.  “He couldn’t have thought…  I mean, a little kid like that…”

“I pushed Robert down the hall to our bedroom and explained that Henry was following my example, and that we should be happy to have such a caring child.  Robert couldn’t go from such extreme anger to happiness at the drop of a hat, but at least he stopped yelling and admitted he’d overreacted.  Then I hurried back to Henry’s room.  As I’d expected, the commotion woke you up.  There you were, in a strange place, not feeling well, with one of the grownups who should be protecting you being scary instead.  You were huddled under the covers, sobbing.  Henry had climbed back up onto the bed and was sitting beside you, patting you on the back and telling you not to cry, but there were tears streaming down his face.  I sat on the bed, gathering each of you up to comfort you as best I could, letting you know you were safe and loved and promising that Robert was sorry for scaring you.”

“Was he?”

“I’d convinced myself he was.  Finally you both fell asleep, and I took comfort from the love and trust the two of you had in me as I indulged in some tears myself.  It was the first time I’d seen that side of Robert, the first sign that our marriage and family weren’t as perfect as I’d thought.  But it was there all along, Neal, and it wasn’t your fault.”

“So if I’d been Angela, Robert would have been OK with it?”

“Probably not.  He’d have been yelling about incest, I suppose, since they’re cousins.  I came to realize after a while that Robert was determined to find fault in his son.  There was no way to be good enough.  And then Henry joined Win-Win and proved to be better than his father, that wasn’t acceptable, either.”

As awful as the story was, at least it helped Neal understand Henry’s refusal to talk about some of the things Robert had done years later.   “You both deserved better.  In fact…  How are things with Joe?”

“We’re here to talk about you, Neal.”

That had sounded rather sharp, as if something in her romance had hit a sour note.  He’d circle back to that later.  “OK.  We’ve established that it’s not my fault that Henry and Robert are at odds.  I promise I’m not punishing myself by thinking about putting off graduate school.  I’m just not certain I’m ready yet.”

“Ready in what way?”

Neal didn’t answer.

“Neal, is this about money?  I’d never have suggested a school as expensive as Columbia if I didn’t have a plan to help you afford it.  There’s a –”

“I’m not taking your money,” Neal insisted.

“It isn’t mine,” she said.  “It’s part of a –”

Before she could continue, Neal added, “Not my grandparents’ either.  I’m not having them think I’m only interested in them for their money.”

Noelle stood up.  “This is ridiculous!  If you would just listen, for heaven’s sake, you’d realize that I’m –”

This time it was Irene who interrupted.  She opened the door to the terrace and asked, “Are therapy sessions usually this loud?  I didn’t realize therapists made a habit of yelling at their patients.”

“I…”  Noelle trailed off, then sat down.  “Neal, I’m so sorry.  That was entirely unprofessional of me.”

“We always knew that the closer we got as family, the sooner we’d have to end a patient-therapist relationship.  If I had to pick, I think I’d rather have an aunt who cares enough to yell at me.”  He clasped her hand loosely.  “Is everything OK with you and Joe?”

Irene pulled up a chair to join the discussion.  “I’m so glad you asked.  I’ve been dying to know and she keeps brushing me off.  I really liked him, right until the end.  He clearly goofed up, but I like someone who has some rough edges.  Robert was always too polished.”

Neal hadn’t heard about this, but he’d liked Joe and added, “He checked out.  I had someone in the Bureau run a standard background check and there were no red flags.”

“You did what?” Noelle asked.

“Well Henry wasn’t around to run a Win-Win background check, so I took the initiative.”

“You think I would want my son to run a background check on my…”  She seemed at a loss for words.

“ _Boyfriend_?”  Irene suggested.  “Or at your age do we skip directly to _lover_?”

“ _Boy toy_?” Neal suggested with a grin.  “He seems too staid for that.  Is _companion_ more discreet?  Noelle seems like the discreet type.”

“Too much so, sometimes,” Irene agreed companionably. 

“I’m right here,” Noelle objected.

“Well if you’re going to stay, I wish you’d contribute to the conversation,” Irene said.  “Has Joe apologized yet?”

“Yes!” Noelle said, not at all her usual calm self.  “But it’s none of your business, and I haven’t decided if I’ve forgiven him.”

“We should stop teasing her until after they’ve had make up sex,” Irene said in a stage whisper.

“You know about that?” Neal asked, surprised to hear his grandmother use the term.

“Oh, dear boy, you must realize the concept has existed for a very long time, even if we didn’t call it that back in the dark ages.  People haven’t changed that much.”

Neal grinned, entranced yet again.  “I like you.”

Noelle rolled her eyes.  “And you’re her favorite grandchild.”

“No I’m not,” Neal protested.  “She loves all of us, and I’ve been away.  I mean…”

“Yes, I do love all of you,” Irene said.  “But we had a different bond.  You were the only grandchild in D.C. with us.  I saw you nearly every day, kept you when your parents needed a break.  It broke my heart when the Marshals took you away.  Soon afterward I encouraged Edmund to take another post in Europe because the memories at home were too painful.”  She shrugged.  “And that doesn’t even take into consideration all the effort and anticipation leading to your birth.  You were our little miracle.”

Neal wanted to follow up on that, but Edmund stepped outside to let them know that a representative from the United Nations had arrived to give them a briefing.  Since Noelle was included in the trip to Switzerland, she needed to hear the briefing, too.  Neal made his goodbyes and headed home.

He hadn’t scheduled any performances this weekend in his role for Urban Legend.  Henry and Angela were carrying the burden for the next few days, and he was free to relax.  He had a quiet dinner with June, and on Sunday called Mozzie to see if his tailor friend could undo the adjustments he’d made to Henry’s suits.  Mozz agreed to have the man stop by Monday morning, and also mentioned that he and Henry had made progress on the plan to send Robert to Alaska. 

“We have an IP address for Robert’s accomplice.”  He gave it to Neal, who would pass it along to Jones the next day.  “With that we can identify who he is.  He sent the article about Heinemann to Robert, and Robert read the article.  He took the bait.  After visiting my site, he searched for more information about Heinemann and his theories.”

“A good start.”

“It gets better.  Henry arranged an interview where Graham expressed his company’s interest in facial recognition technology and his plans to send a representative to negotiate with Heinemann to bring his innovations to the private sector.  I made sure the interview title, summary and keywords would send it to the top of the search results for the criteria Robert would use, and that did the trick.  He read the interview.  Next step will be to convince him that Henry is the person Graham is sending to Alaska.  This morning Graham sent an email to you at the FBI saying he’s convinced Henry to make the trip, and hopes it will lead to your cousin giving up his ‘foolish’ search for Robert.  He’ll say they’re going to pin their hopes on facial recognition, instead.  Running all their security feeds through Heinemann’s process will be their test.  If they find a hit on Robert, they’ll invest in Heinemann’s work and make him a partner in the company.”

“A partner?  That will rattle Robert.”

“Enough to send him to Alaska to stop Henry,” Mozzie agreed.  “We want you to respond back to Graham that you’ll help talk Henry into doing what his grandfather wants.”

“Sure,” Neal agreed readily.  “When do you plant the clues that Henry took a charter from Seattle to Alaska?”

“I leave in a few hours,” Mozzie said.  “I want to do this in person, so I’ll be gone a few days.  Sundays through Tuesdays are light for bookings of music performances.  I won’t miss out on much as Urban Legend’s agent.  Henry has an interview as Shawn this evening, and plans to drop in on a performance with a group he knows in D.C. Monday.  Angela also has a performance planned as Grace at a nightclub in D.C. Monday night.”

“Both going to D.C.  That’s interesting.”

“Henry said he didn’t like to perform there for fear of photos appearing in the paper that his grandparents would notice.  While they’re out of the country, it’s a perfect time to hit a market we’ve been ignoring.” 

“How long is Henry planning to stay in D.C.?  Maybe I could stop by and talk to him.”

“You just saw him a few days ago,” Mozzie pointed out.  “If you’re going to travel, I’d rather send you to another performance as Neal Legend.  The requests are stacking up.”

“I know, but I’d like to see Henry in person again, make sure he’s sticking to the plan and not going rogue.  Maybe it’s time to schedule a performance with both Shawn and Neal.”

“Lose the mystique of whether Neal is a real person who’s really alive?”

“I know, Mozz.  You don’t want to give up the conspiracy theory you’ve been spinning.  But it’s all been leading up to the big reveal.  One moment with lots of press and attention to make Masterson take notice.  We’re getting close, right?”

“Henry said almost exactly the same thing yesterday.”

“Then we’re on the same page.  Good.”  But Neal wasn’t entirely convinced it was good.  An impatient Henry could be unpredictable, and Neal had a master plan to keep on track.  “You don’t think he’s going to go off script, do you?”

“Well, he’s a lot like you so…  Probably.”  Mozzie chuckled.  “Speaking of being like you, did I ever tell you about the conspiracy theory your cousin inspired when you were in the hospital?”

“No,” said Neal.  “What happened?”

“Well I’d stopped by your room, and you were out like a light, and then a minute later I ran into you again, walking about dressed in a suit.  Of course, my first thought was that you’d been cloned.”

“Naturally,” said Neal with a smile.

“It turned out that the Suits had asked him to impersonate you to rattle a suspect who thought he’d succeeded in killing you.  I realized right away that it was Henry.  No fooling me.”  There was a pause.  “Neal?”

“Oh, right.”  Where had that famous sheep been cloned?  Was it England?  Someplace in Great Britain.  Noelle had said his mom was desperate, that she’d do anything to have a baby.  They’d talked a lot yesterday about what a miracle he’d been but they hadn’t really said anything concrete about what that meant.  The Ambassador was wealthy and had a lot of connections.  Could he have convinced someone to…   “I mean, cloning people is illegal, right?  Mad scientists cloning Hitler aside, no reputable doctor would be making human clones.”

“That’s a matter for debate, but Henry’s almost three years older.  There’s no way he’s your clone.  I mean, it would have to be the other way around.”

And Henry had been along on that trip to England.  The epitome of the healthy child Meredith Caffrey Bennett had wanted.  “Exactly.  I mean, that’s ridiculous.  I’d know if I were a clone, right?” 

“Riiiiight,” Mozzie said.  “Do you have some reason to think you might be?”

“No!  Of course not.”  Neal stood up and walked around the room.  Obviously he’d been spending too much time around Mozzie, listening to his crazy theories.  He needed to stop thinking about this nonsense and get his head back in the game.

“Completely off the subject,” Mozzie was saying, “when was the last time Henry was at your loft?”

“Sometime in early March, I guess.  Why?”

“Any chance you’d have a strand of his hair?”

“Mozz, stop it.  I’m not Henry’s clone.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Monday started out as a normal day.  Crazy theories about clones were forgotten, or at least sidelined as a joke that he’d tell Henry someday when they both needed a laugh. 

After the morning briefing, there was a meeting about the latest updates in the search for Robert Winslow.  Between the data Travis had collected while undercover and what Mozzie had tracked online, they’d identified the accomplice as a man named Jason Ford. 

“From a Ford to a Ferrari?” Peter had asked after Jones outlined how they’d narrowed down the suspect list to Ford.

“That sounds like Robert,” Neal said.  “Not a lot of imagination.  What do we know about this guy?”

“He’s 31, lives in Atlanta but telecommutes most of the time.  He’s logged a lot of travel recently, including trips to Seattle and New York,” Jones reported.  “At Carlson-Berger he’s been a technical project manager for the last three years.  Reviews from his managers were all positive.  He’s worked a wide variety of projects, getting access to the servers for the FBI, the Marshals and a couple of other government agencies and some banks.  In the last few months he volunteered for one of the least popular assignments in the company: data quality.  His latest projects are responsible for checking that data is secure, and that means running lots of queries of data for analysis and validation.  It’s been the perfect cover for monitoring, inserting and deleting email messages, because he can always claim it’s a test.”

“What did he do before Carlson-Berger?” Peter asked.

“He was at one of their competitors for a few years.”  Jones looked down at his notes.  “Similar kind of job to what he has now.  And before that he was at Win-Win.  He started working there part time while he was a student at Loyola in Baltimore, where he was a double major in Business and Computer Science.  At first he was an intern in the IT department, but according to Allen Winston he was interested in the investigations side of the business.  He showed some talent and sometimes they’d send him undercover for a quick assignment, usually working with a more senior member of the staff.  When he finished college he was offered a full time job.  His title was project manager, so officially he was in the IT department, but between projects he’d take investigative work.  He traveled quite a bit in those investigations.  Winston says that most of those cases were managed by Robert, who destroyed the records before he disappeared.”

“Did Graham Winslow have anything to add?” Peter asked.

“Not yet.  I couldn’t get hold of him.”

“That’s odd,” said Neal.  “He’s always been available for this case.  Finding Robert has been his top priority.”  Graham had sent the email as Mozzie had arranged yesterday, and Neal had responded.  Robert should believe Henry was being sent to Alaska.  “Anything about Ford’s family?  I’m going to bet his father is deceased or out of the picture.”

Jones nodded.  “Died when Ford was a kid.  How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.”  But Neal was thinking back to the psychology courses he’d attended when Henry was getting his masters.

“Care to elaborate on this _guess_?” Peter asked in a tone that was more an order than a question.

“This guy would have started his part time work at Win-Win right after Robert and Noelle’s divorce was final.  They would have been separated for a while before that.  There was a distance from Henry, on a lot of levels.  Robert didn’t see him often, and would have been feeling pressure from Graham, who would have wanted assurance that he wouldn’t lose touch with his grandson.  Robert would have been blaming Noelle for the distance, and to prove it he probably decided to mentor a young man.  He wanted to show he could build that bond and train someone to be an asset to the company.  Unlike Henry, who took having a father for granted and wanted to stay away from his dad, Jason Ford would have been eager to spend time with a father figure.”

“You’re saying this guy thinks Robert is a saint?” Jones asked.  “Isn’t that a stretch?  Everything we have on Jason Ford points to a smart guy.”

“I’m not surprised.  Robert has high standards, and so does Win-Win, so we assume Ford is smart and a hard worker, who showed a talent for something that Robert wanted him to do.  He gave Ford time and attention and interesting projects, convincing him that they’re friends and that Robert wanted what’s best for him.  Ford was grateful and, yes, still believes that Robert’s a saint.  Think about it.  Noelle’s as smart as they come, and she fell in love with the guy.  They were married for years before she saw him for what he really is.  The end result is, when Robert asked for some sketchy favors recently, probably claiming that he’s being framed by a jealous son who took his legacy for granted and was never worthy of it, Ford fell for it.  He’s probably heard stories for more than a decade about how frivolous and devious and worthless Henry is.  Ford would see this as his chance to be the son he thinks Robert deserves, giving unquestioning support.”

“That’s quite a guess,” Peter said.  “I’m going to take a wild guess of my own and say you’ve been thinking about Robert’s accomplice for a while now.”

“Sure.  We all have, right?  And we’ve known since Seattle that we were talking about a guy a few years older than Henry who is loyal to Robert to the extent of helping him escape the FBI.”  Neal could see Peter had a lot of questions, and was grateful when another agent knocked on the door and requested Peter’s help. 

Peter checked his watch.  “I’ll be right there,” he promised, and the agent walked away.  “I want the two of you to brainstorm ideas to implement Neal’s suggestion of flipping this accomplice of Robert’s.  Come up with some ways to show him Robert’s true colors, without letting him realize we’re on to him.  Let’s reconvene after lunch.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Peter managed to slip away for lunch with El.  He couldn’t tell her details regarding the Winslow case, as that was still wrapped in layers of security, but he mentioned Neal’s profile of a suspect who now seemed more like a victim.  “I knew almost from day one that I was signing up for a lot of gray areas when Neal joined the team.  This is one of the grayest.  The parallels between a guy who was victimized by his mentor and Neal are a little too close for comfort.”

“You don’t think, because Neal identifies with the victim that he identifies you with the mentor?” El asked as their meal arrived.

“I hope not.  Neal’s had plenty of bad mentors or father figures who wanted him primarily to use his talents.  I tell myself he doesn’t lump me in with them, but we had that rough patch recently.”  Peter took a bite of his Reuben before adding, “He says he’s ready to forgive and forget.  I thought he meant it, but there was something off this morning.  I feel like there’s something he’s not telling me, related to this case.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?”  El managed to eat her French dip without spilling a drop of the _jus_.  That always amazed Peter.  He inevitably dribbled it on his tie when he ordered that sandwich.

“Or because he’s navigating a labyrinth of promises to keep various secrets.  Which means that there’s some kind of link between this suspect/victim and Henry that I don’t know about.”

“Do you need to know?” El challenged.

“That’s where we head into Donald Rumsfeld territory,” Peter answered, quoting, “’There are known unknowns.  That is to say, there are things that we know we don’t know.  But there are also the unknown unknowns.  There are things we don’t know we don’t know.’”

“You have a very complicated job,” El said.  “That is something we do know.  And we know that you’ll figure out what you need to know and what you can ignore.  I have faith in you.”

It was after Peter returned from lunch that he realized this was not a normal Monday at all.  He’d barely stepped into the bullpen when he got the double finger point from Hughes.  In Hughes’ office, the boss told him, “I don’t know what’s going on yet, Peter, but it’s something big.  The Bureau has three people on their way out here from D.C. as we speak, on a flight that’s due to land in thirty minutes.  Whatever this case is, it has ties to D.C. and New York, and it’s political.  I’ve received the names of the agents traveling here, and the two I recognize are with Missing Persons.  They’ve requested help from your team.”

“White Collar helping Missing Persons?”  In the last six months only once had there been a need for collaboration between those two groups in the Manhattan office. 

“They seem to think your team has knowledge or contacts they need to find their missing person.  There will be a briefing as soon as they get here.  Make it your team’s top priority.”

Peter frowned.  “We have a lot going on right now, and we’re finally making headway on the Robert Winslow investigation.”

“Turn it over to Win-Win if you have to.  When my peers in Washington called an hour ago, they mentioned our worries about the unrest in Eastern Europe having domestic repercussions and said, I quote: _This is not a drill_.”

Peter’s thoughts ran to El.  Was she safe?  But a missing persons case would be about a single person being targeted, not violence erupting in the streets.  “Who do you need in the briefing?”  Already he was thinking how to juggle the team’s case load.

“They asked for you and three of your top people.  Your pick.”

When White Collar had helped the local Missing Persons team at the start of the year, he’d included Tricia, Jones and Neal.  They’d done good work, and made a solid team.  Tricia had previously worked in Missing Persons.  Jones was the best in-the-box thinker on the team, and Neal was their best out-of-the-box thinker.  “I’ll get everyone ready.”  He checked his watch.  “We’ll have to hurry to turn over their existing cases.” 

“If I need to pull people from other departments, let me know,” Hughes offered.

Since Agent Travis Miller was now somewhat involved in the Winslow case, Peter asked Jones and Neal to turn over their work to him.  He could coordinate with Win-Win for a few days, and should be in good hands with Allen Winston and Graham Winslow.  He just hoped Graham didn’t recruit Travis away.  The man seemed determined to steal someone from Peter’s team.  Tricia turned her work over to Agent Collins.

After the rush to get ready, they gathered in the main conference room and waited for their D.C. colleagues to arrive.  Tricia asked Neal and Jones how their hunt for Robert Winslow was going since she’d been advising Jones on the search before her vacation, and they described their plans to turn Robert’s accomplice against him.

“You know,” Neal said, “we should run this by my aunt Noelle.  If anyone knows how to play mind games with suspects, it’s her.  She was a legend when she worked at Win-Win.”

“I remember how she got Hitchum to confess this spring,” Tricia said.  “I thought I was good at interrogations, but watching her left me in awe.  She couldn’t stay long that day, but eventually I’d like to talk to her about her experiences and training.  If I could go back and do my Quantico training over again, I’d sign up for more classes from the behavioral analysis group.”

“Are you serious?” Peter asked.  “Because I overestimated our training budget, and I’ve got to submit a plan this month to spend what’s left or return it.  If you’re open to travel to D.C. this fall, I think we could make it work.  But it would be a month or more commitment.  They combine training with working actual cases.  It’s like an apprenticeship.”

Tricia looked thoughtful.  “Let me check with Mitch and see what the university has planned for him for the fall semester.  I think he’d be able to take care of the boys.”

Peter made a note of it, and then paid attention to what Neal and Jones were saying.  Something about a sketch Neal had provided of Jason Ford.  “It was the clincher,” Jones said.  “Everything else pointed to him, and then that sketch looked exactly like him.”

That was odd.  Neal had been in the tunnels under Seattle when Ford helped Robert Winslow escape, and that traffic cam footage had been grainy at best.  How had he been able to provide an accurate sketch?

Before Peter could ask, Hughes led an agent into the room.  “Everyone, this is Agent Diana Berrigan.  Agents Silva and Young stayed at the airport to conduct some interviews and will join us later this afternoon.  Agent Berrigan will act as a liaison between teams.” 

Peter introduced himself, Tricia, Jones and Neal.  “Welcome to New York, Agent Berrigan.”

“Thanks.  I’ve heard great things about your team.  This initial briefing will actually be led by Agent DeLay, who’ll be calling in from D.C.  Then Agents Silva and Young will join us to provide more details.”

“Agent Jeff DeLay?” Peter asked. 

“That’s right,” said Diana.

“He’s with the Office of Public Affairs, last I heard.  What’s he doing on a Missing Persons investigation?”

“Actually, I’m with Public Affairs, too.  It’s considered an extremely sensitive case, and communication to the public and to the friends and family of those involved is to be handled with kid gloves.”  Berrigan kept her expression as blank as possible, but Peter got the impression that handling things with kid gloves wasn’t her preferred way of working.  “There are a lot of ties to New York in this case, and we have reason to believe your team has a history with some of the people involved.  We’ll need your help breaking the news and getting cooperation from these people as quickly and quietly as possible.  That’s why we’re starting with the Public Affairs briefing and then Missing Persons will fill in the blanks.”

As Agent Berrigan dialed the number for Agent DeLay, Hughes left, saying he’d return when Silva and Young arrived.  Peter wished he could leave, too.  Public Affairs briefings were often a painful experience, and he regretted pulling his best people into this meeting.  Tricia and Jones understood what they were in for and exchanged a look of commiseration.  Neal had never dealt with Public Affairs, but seemed to understand that his full attention wasn’t going to be required.  He’d grabbed a pad of paper and pencil and was sketching something.

Peter excused himself to grab a cup of coffee while Agent Berrigan introduced DeLay and set up a connection so the D.C. agent’s screen would be projected in the conference room.  PowerPoint slides.  This was really going to be a snoozefest.  Glancing over Neal’s shoulder while walking out of the room, he saw an impressive sketch of Berrigan, hands on her hips, wearing kid gloves. 

Peter made a point of sitting beside Neal when he returned.  If this briefing turned out to be as boring as he expected, he wanted to be ready to stifle any career-limiting sarcasm from his consultant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The briefing isn’t going to be nearly as boring as Peter fears. 
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for suggesting Neal’s grandparents stay at the Pierre Hotel (see the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for photos of that amazing location). She also helped brainstorm the chapter title and provided valuable advice for the conversation with Mozzie. FYI, I’m not doing a crossover with Orphan Black; Neal is not a clone.
> 
> I’ve sometimes wondered how to explain the lack of Henry’s presence in canon, and Noelle gives us the key in this chapter: If Neal had been arrested instead of being recruited by the FBI, Robert would have kept his temper and arranged Henry’s “accidental” death. That’s why the canon version of Neal doesn’t have his cousin’s support and doesn’t get in contact with the rest of his family.
> 
> Right now Neal thinks he has everyone dancing to his tune, but of course it can’t be that easy, as we’ll see in the next chapter: House of Cards. That will be posted in a week.
> 
> Meanwhile, keep an eye out for Silbrith’s next story. Now that she’s posted the final chapter of The Queen’s Jewels with its wonderfully fluffy Thanksgiving scenes, she’ll start posting An Evening with Genji, a story in this AU set in December 2004.


	25. House of Cards

**White Collar Division. Monday afternoon. July 12, 2004.**

In the conference room with Peter, Tricia, Jones and an agent named Diana Berrigan who had flown in from D.C., Neal listened to Agent DeLay over the phone. It was apparent from the reactions of everyone in the room that expectations for this briefing from Public Affairs were low. It was frustrating being pulled away from the search for Robert Winslow today, when they were finally getting somewhere. Neal had all of his chess pieces in place and was ready to take control of the board, only to be pulled away from the game.

Neal had sketched Agent Diana Berrigan while she set up the conference call. She was a striking African American woman slightly younger than Jones. Her accent made Neal think that she’d spent some time abroad, maybe in England. She was twisting a strand of hair around her finger, a nervous gesture incongruous with her otherwise confident, take-charge manner.

Agent DeLay had a soothing voice that was probably a virtue in his role of dealing with the public, but it was lulling Neal into a fog. He sketched Robert in handcuffs. Peter glanced over and grinned.

“You mean it’s been less than 24 hours?” Tricia asked, and Peter straightened. Neal started paying attention. He thought people were supposed to be missing 48 hours before an investigation started unless it was a child or an obvious abduction.

“The report was filed this morning, but the last sighting was yesterday afternoon,” DeLay said. A new slide was projected on the monitor, this one showing a timeline. Literally. The page showed a horizontal line with tick marks for the hours of the day. The page heading was Sunday’s date. It was as if the FBI gave courses in how to make boring presentations. “Let me walk you through the timeline. On Sunday around noon, the victim we’re calling _Alpha_ boarded a plane in Toronto.”

“Alpha?” Neal asked. “Why not call him by his name?”

“It’s a Double Blind, isn’t it?” Peter asked.

“That’s right,” DeLay confirmed. “We don’t want to release the names to the media or anyone in the public yet. It’s sensitive enough that to make sure no one in my department slips up, we haven’t been given the real names. We’re using code designations. When the agents from Missing Persons join the briefing, I’ll drop off the call before they share the names.”

Neal caught Diana rolling her eyes. He wondered how she’d ended up working on a team that seemed so ill-suited to her personality.

“And Alpha, by the way, is a woman,” DeLay added.

“At least they know something,” Jones said under his breath. Peter shot him a sharp glance, and Jones shrugged. In a louder voice Jones asked, “Is she Canadian?”

“No,” DeLay said, “she’s a U.S. citizen. She’d been in Canada only a few days, on a vacation, according to her mother.”

“How old is Alpha?” Tricia asked.

“Early 20s,” DeLay said. “She was traveling alone, and as I said, boarded her flight at noon. She had a layover in New York, with two hours before her connecting flight. She should have gotten home early Sunday evening, but never arrived. Her mother was at the airport to pick her up, and when Alpha didn’t show up at baggage claim, her mother tried calling and texting. She didn’t get an answer, and when she called the airline they told her that Alpha hadn’t boarded that connecting flight. Nor did they have any record of her booking a replacement flight.”

Tricia frowned. “How do you justify making this a missing persons case? I haven’t heard anything yet that would make me think there’s been foul play. Most likely this girl decided to stay in New York and have some fun and forgot to tell her mother. Or maybe she felt she has some reason to rebel and deliberately left her mom in the dark.”

Neal glanced at the timeline on the monitor. Events DeLay had mentioned were listed now, and it brought to mind his own schedule for Sunday. After talking to Mozzie, Neal had accompanied June to brunch at a restaurant that had been one of Byron’s favorites. June said she hadn’t been able to face going there since losing her husband and thought it was time to revisit the place and the memories it would bring. She had asked Neal along to make sure she didn’t become overwhelmed with sadness.

They’d indulged in stories about Byron, with Neal doing his best to keep things upbeat. He’d enjoyed the meal – the food was excellent – but June had been mildly distressed that something Byron usually ordered was no longer on the menu. Then back at home he’d updated June on the Masterson con, giving her something else to think about. The rest of the day had been subdued, and he’d returned to work eager to be active. Sitting through this briefing was not what he’d had in mind.

If not for the need to keep making progress on the Robert and Masterson cases, he would have loved to have taken his grandmother up on her invitation to go to Switzerland. Although he might have to check with Peter to make sure it was safe. Did his immunity from the FBI also extend to Interpol? Most of his time in Europe had been busy with less-than-legal pursuits.

What time had Noelle said their flight was? They might have been at JFK around the time this Alpha person went missing. Unlikely that Noelle would have noticed anything, of course. The airport was massive and filled with people.

Neal had missed the answer to Tricia’s question, he realized. Peter wasn’t going to be happy if he didn’t remember the details of the briefing. Turning to an empty page, Neal started sketching his cousins. He drew them sitting together at the piano, as he remembered from his birthday party. With the creative side of his mind occupied, he focused his analytical side on the meeting.

“That brings us to _Beta_ ,” DeLay was saying. “This is a male relative, slightly older than Alpha. While Alpha’s travel arrangements had been in place for a couple of weeks, Beta booked his flights Sunday morning. He arrived in New York about half an hour before Alpha, and was supposed to be on the same connecting flight. He also failed to board that flight, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.”

“Is he another victim, or a suspect?” Jones asked.

“At this point, we don’t know. He’d texted Alpha in the morning telling her he planned to catch up with her in New York. Alpha had called her mother before boarding her flight to JFK to let her know Beta would be arriving with her. When neither arrived, Alpha’s mother tried contacting some of Beta’s relatives. Several are out of the country, and that’s part of the reason for not releasing names yet. We haven’t been able to contact his next of kin. There was one relative state-side she was able to contact, and who was quite concerned. When he couldn’t get a response from Beta last evening he drove to D.C. to meet with Alpha’s mother. Together they called the Bureau last night, explaining their reasons for wanting to treat their relatives as missing even though the people missing are adults who haven’t been gone very long. Missing Persons agreed, and set up a team in Alpha’s mother’s home in case the perpetrator calls with demands.”

“And what are those reasons for giving this case special treatment?” Peter asked.

“First and foremost, Alpha and Beta have a relative involved in a project described as _politically sensitive,_ which could have been a motive. Snatch them, and then put pressure on this relative to drop out of the project, for instance. In fact, my superiors have told me that we’re trying to keep a lid on news of the disappearance because of the risk of distracting their grandfather from his work.”

Neal put down the pencil and stopped sketching. He felt as if he’d stopped breathing, too.

DeLay continued, “The reason we’re involving your team is that there’s a third grandchild who lives in New York. We’re calling him Omega. We’ve confirmed he hasn’t disappeared, but want your help to inform him of what’s happened and to make sure he remains safe. Beyond that, we have reason to believe he might be able to shed some light on what’s happened to his cousins. There’s –”

“Stop!” ordered Peter. “Not another word.” He looked across the table at Diana. “How do you know Omega isn’t missing? It’s because he works for the Bureau, right? You knew his badge had been scanned here this morning.”

“Yes, we knew he worked here.” She looked at Neal uncertainly. “But not as an agent. There were only supposed to be agents in this briefing.”

“He’s a consultant,” Peter said. “Neal, we’re going to find them. You hear me?”

Neal noticed his hands were shaking, and he placed them flat on the table. Then he looked at Peter blankly. What had happened to the chess board he was ruling over, with all the pieces moving as he planned? Instead he’d been left with a house of cards, and it had collapsed without warning. What the hell was Henry up to? He had to believe that this was Henry’s doing, not someone trying to derail the talks in Geneva, and not Robert one-upping them. He simply couldn’t let his mind go there.

“Alpha and Beta,” said Diana. Neal hadn’t noticed her walk to his side of the table, but now she was leaning over his shoulder and looking at his latest sketch.

“I thought you didn’t know who they were,” Peter said.

“Not their names, but I caught a glimpse of their photos on the flight. Young and Silva were studying the file, and I didn’t like being in the dark so I paid attention to what they were saying. Sitting across the aisle I couldn’t read the names, but the photos were clear. Unfortunately their file didn’t include a photo of you.” She sat down beside Neal. “I am so sorry. We never intended for you to hear it like this. Agent Silva was going to talk to you and… Honestly I have no idea what he was going to say, but it wouldn’t have been…” She gestured toward the speaker phone.

Neal felt a hand laid gently on his shoulder. He looked up to see Tricia. “Can we get you anything?” she asked. “Water?”

He nodded.

“Jones,” Tricia said, “could you…”

“On it,” said Jones, and he strode out of the conference room.

“Do you want to tell Hughes, or stay here?” Tricia asked.

Peter looked torn.

“It’s OK,” Neal told him. “I’m fine. Really.”

Peter nodded. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m so sorry,” Diana repeated after Peter left. Neal looked at her and realized that at some point someone had ended the call. The light on the speaker phone wasn’t lit anymore.

“It’s OK,” Neal repeated. “They’re OK.”

Jones returned with a bottle of water, and Hughes’ voice carried through when the conference room door was opened. He was yelling, using language they didn’t normally hear from him. Sure, Hughes dropped a swear word occasionally in a meeting, but not at this volume, and not so many strung together. It was impressive.

Diana winced and said, “I have to agree with him.”

“How’d you end up working for Public Affairs?” Neal asked.

She shrugged. “Luck of the draw. I was hoping for Organized Crime, but they warned us going into Quantico that there’s no guarantee of what assignment we’ll get. My father was in the diplomatic corps, and Public Affairs deals with a lot of politicians and sensitive situations, especially in D.C. Last week they told me that’s where I was going.”

“Did they actually interview you?”

She flashed a grin at Neal’s question. “Nope. They assumed a life among diplomats had rubbed off on me.”

Following Neal’s lead, Jones said, “A couple weeks ago Peter had me look through the resumes of the latest set of upcoming Quantico grads, to pick the ones we wanted to interview to be our probie. I don’t remember seeing your name.”

“I got the impression that a handful of us were picked in advance. We didn’t get called for any interviews, but were the first to be told our assignments. Most of my classmates are in their second round of interviews right now.”

“It isn’t supposed to work like that,” Tricia said. “Every team looking for probies is supposed to get a fair shot at all the candidates. But I’ve heard some teams in D.C. get around the rules and cherry pick the ones they want before interviews even start.”

No one had much to say after that, and the room was silent when Peter entered. Diana stood. “Is Public Affairs off the case?” she asked.

“No,” Peter said. “But they’ll be handling public communications from here on, not Bureau briefings. My boss just got off the phone with DeLay’s boss, and in the future the Double Blind policy won’t be used when we know a member of the Bureau is affected. Neal -”

“She’s a probie,” Neal interrupted. “What’s that mean?”

Peter looked sharply at Diana. “It means probationary agent. How long have you been out of Quantico?”

“A week. Should I head back to D.C.?”

“Honestly? It would probably cost more to buy a ticket to send you back today than to keep you here a few days. How would you feel about being on loan to White Collar? My team’s overloaded at the moment.”

“I’d like to help,” Diana said. “My dad used to tell me you can say you’re sorry a hundred times, and it still doesn’t measure up to actually stepping forward to fix what you did. I regret being a part of this, and I’d feel a lot better if I could roll up my sleeves and help catch whoever’s behind this disappearance.”

“Fine,” said Peter. “Tricia, can you let DeLay know, and then take the lead on directing Agent Berrigan’s work?”

“I will. Follow me,” she told Diana. “Let’s talk to your boss.”

“Jones,” Peter said as the other agents were leaving, “Go back to your desk and keep watch for Agents Silva and Young. They should be here soon, and then we’ll have a real briefing. We’ll let them use Conference Room C as their office while they’re here. Let me know when they arrive, show them to Room C, and then we’ll give them a few minutes to get settled before we all converge on them.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Jones promised as he left.

“It’s just you and me, kid,” Peter said. “This might be our last chance to talk alone for a few hours once the Missing Persons agents arrive. You need anything?”

“Same as everyone else. Answers.”

“Henry didn’t give you any kind of heads up that he was gonna go off the radar? No, really think about it, Neal,” Peter said when Neal automatically shook his head. “Is there anything that didn’t register at the time but might have been an indication he planned something like this? Because I gotta tell you, as much as I hope this is just a play to manipulate Robert, Henry’s gonna be in a lot of trouble if he caused us to kick off an investigation of this scale instead of simply telling us what he needed and letting us fake an investigation. If that’s all it is, things will go much better for him if we find out now.”

“He didn’t say anything. I can’t think of anything that Henry or Angela did or said that would indicate they were planning something like this. I assume it’s Graham who contacted the Bureau with Paige – Angela’s mom,” he clarified when Peter looked confused. “You know Graham thinks Win-Win is superior to the FBI. He would have used all his resources to track Henry, and he would have called him and ordered him to stop fooling around if he’d been able to find him. Going to D.C. and asking the Bureau for help, you know that’s only something he’d do as a last resort.”

“When you talked to your cousin in Philly, did he seem _off_ to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d mentioned a concern he might decide to use drugs. Did you see any signs of that?”

“No, he seemed perfectly clean. And he said… well, he said he knew I wouldn’t approve and was avoiding that route.”

“And since then?” Peter asked.

“What are you getting at?”

“After he met with you, he called me. He didn’t sound like his usual, rational self. He sounded paranoid, and frankly by the end of the call I suspected he might be on something.”

Neal ran his hands through his hair. “Probably because I mentioned the concern. He’d get a kick out of playing that up, making you think it was true.” And if Henry had planned to disappear out of the blue like this, he might have been planting that seed of doubt that he was in his right mind, to keep the FBI concerned enough to take his disappearance seriously. But why do this? Why disappear on the East Coast when they wanted to send Robert to the West Coast? And why do it now, with the Ambassador on a mission overseas, when the news would be suppressed? What was the point? And why take Angela with him, unless she was in some kind of danger? But if that was the case, why hadn’t he reached out to Win-Win or the FBI to protect them?

His mind was still swirling with questions when Jones popped in to say the agents had arrived and would be ready for a briefing in a few minutes.

Settled in Conference Room C with Hughes, Peter, Jones, Tricia, Diana and the two Missing Persons agents from D.C., Neal heard another round of apologies for how he’d learned of his cousins’ disappearance. They confirmed it was Angela and Henry, and that they had disappeared with their carryon luggage. Their checked bags had gone on to D.C. on the flight they’d missed.

“Even Henry’s guitar?” Neal asked.

“Yes, a guitar was one of the items we collected,” Agent Young confirmed.

Agent Silva picked up the thread. “So far we haven’t found any indication that they rented a car, used a credit card for a cab or other transportation, or checked into a hotel. There’s also no trace of their cell phones starting shortly after Angela arrived at JFK. Agent Burke, we’ll ask for your team’s help in canvassing the rental agency desks and cab companies with photos, to see if they paid cash or used a fake ID.”

“I can coordinate that,” Tricia volunteered. “Agent Berrigan?”

“Please, call me Diana. And yes, I’ll help.”

“Agent Young will assist,” Silva said. “I believe the earlier briefing touched on the possibility that these two people were targeted to influence their grandfather, Edmund Caffrey. Someone might ask him to pull out of the talks in Geneva, or to lend his support to one side over the other. The security team there is aware of the situation and monitoring all attempts to contact the Ambassador, his wife or their daughter.”

“Do they know what’s happened?” Neal asked.

“Not yet. There’s nothing they can do at the moment, and it was deemed important to keep the Ambassador focused on the work he’s in Geneva to do.”

“You think they should be told?” asked Peter.

Neal shrugged. “They would want to know. They’ll be upset that they weren’t informed, but on the other hand, Silva’s right. There’s nothing they could do but worry. I’m glad to spare them that for now.”

“In this scenario, where there’s a political motivation behind this, you’re also at risk,” said Silva. “One of the main arguments against this scenario is that no one attempted to grab you, too. It would be even more devastating to tell the Ambassador that all of his grandchildren were taken, and you’re right here in New York, where the others disappeared.”

“It’s more complicated than it seems,” Neal said. Keeping to the Marshals’ official background story for him, he explained, “My mom was estranged from her parents since I was just a kid. We moved away and fell out of touch. It’s just in the last few months I reconnected with my grandparents. Not a lot of people know I’m back in their life. It’s very possible that someone trying to manipulate the Ambassador would think there are only two grandkids, or wouldn’t know where the third one is.”

Agent Silva finished scribbling some notes and then looked up. “That makes the political scenario move back up to the top of the list, especially given the timing. The next scenario involves Robert Winslow, Henry’s father. I understand he’s the subject of an investigation by your team, Burke, and is suspected of trying to kill both Neal and Henry.”

“That’s right,” Peter said. “Until a few days ago, Henry Winslow had been staying hidden, trying to smoke out his father in a game of cat-and-mouse. A joint effort of my team and his family finally convinced him to stop hiding and come back into the light. I thought he was going to join in our investigation.”

“And how was he staying hidden?” Young asked.

Peter looked at Neal, “You want to take that one?”

“Mostly by using cash to travel around. The Winslows are avid sailors, and at times he borrowed family boats docked around the country as a means to travel without any TSA checkpoints or ID checks. I assume he booked his flight here under his real name?” Seeing Young and Silva nod, Neal continued, “Then it’s one of the first times he’s traveled under his real name in weeks. But I find it hard to believe this was Robert’s doing. First, we’ve been making him think we’re looking for something in Alaska, and that Henry’s planning to head in that direction. He should be focused there, not New York. Robert’s accomplice has access to a lot of data, but none of it’s in the travel industry, right?”

Jones said, “Carlson-Berger doesn’t have TSA or travel company data.”

“So I don’t see how Robert would have known Henry was here. And I don’t see why he’d take Angela, too. How’s he going to control two hostages? It doesn’t add up for me, not unless he’s really losing it.”

“Or has another accomplice we weren’t aware of,” Jones suggested.

“Got it,” said Silva. “That scenario stays on our list, but lower in likelihood. The next scenario is that one or both of them had a reason to disappear. If they both disappeared willingly, then there’s no case. If one of them coerced the other into leaving the airport, then instead of two victims, we have a victim and a suspect.”

“No,” said Neal. “Neither of them would do that.”

“We’ve discovered that Henry Winslow has a history of disappearances. A missing persons report was filed when he was 20. Although our records show his family had us close the case after a few months, his aunt said he remained hidden from them for years and has never explained where he went or what he was doing. Recently this team was treating him as a missing person again. Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Peter.

“But…” Neal paused. Yes, his cousin had been missing, and he’d pushed to have the Bureau take it seriously, but they’d always known that Henry’s “disappearance” had been about finding and distracting Robert. The case had been opened more to appease and train Neal, than to find someone who’d willingly gone off the radar and didn’t particularly want to be found. But could he say that to these agents? Did it make Peter look bad to admit he’d indulged Neal with a “case” that had really been an excuse to let Neal be on the periphery of the Robert Winslow search? “But we didn’t uncover anything nefarious. Henry had gone looking for his dad, dropped out of touch, and his family was worried. When he realized just how worried we were, he apologized and agreed to go home. You could argue it was poor judgement on his part, but how do you turn that into suspicion that he abducted Angela?”

“I’m not making judgments at this point,” Silva said. “I’m simply laying out the facts. Henry Winslow has a history of disappearing for months, even years at a time. To drop so completely out of sight, he must have one or more aliases and fake IDs. It seems that Angela has also dropped out of sight occasionally in the last couple of years. According to Graham Winslow, they aren’t the only ones. Neal, he says you accompanied Henry during part of the time that he was seemingly untraceable. Therefore we assume you know the aliases he was using, and possibly the alias or aliases that Angela has used. If you can tell us those names, we may be able to locate them and close this case in a few hours as another instance of these individuals deciding to go on some kind of side trip.”

Neal stared at them. This wasn’t the same thing at all. Sure, they frequently disappeared into their Urban Legend personas, but they never called attention to it by telling their family they would meet them someplace and then failing to show. In fact, now that he thought about it, this disappearance meant his cousins had missed performances and events Mozzie had planned for Sunday night and Monday. Unless for some reason they wanted to be considered missing as their real identities while still continuing the con as Urban Legend? But then how did Henry perform without his guitar?

He had to call Mozzie. As Urban Legend’s agent, he’d know if Shawn and Grace Legend had made their most recent scheduled appearances. That’s how Neal would know they were all right. Mozzie would tell him they were safe, and fill him in on what the disappearance was all about.

Neal stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

Peter stood in his way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“It’s OK, Peter. I just have to call someone. Then we can clear all this up.”

“We’ve got a speaker phone in here,” Silva said. “Give me the number.”

“I can’t…” How on earth was he supposed to explain that Mozz wouldn’t answer a call from an FBI office line? And he couldn’t mention Urban Legend in front of any of these people. Those Legend aliases were sacrosanct. They’d promised never to divulge them. “You don’t understand. He won’t talk to the FBI, but if I can just have a minute…”

“Yeah. Give us a minute?” Peter requested. “We could probably all use a break at this point.” Everyone stood and started filing out of the room. “Tricia?” Peter said. “Maybe you should stay. I’m sure you can explain this better than I could.”

“Explain what?” Neal said. “C’mon. Even prisoners get to make a phone call.”

“Maybe you should sit down,” Peter said, as Neal ran his hands through his hair and started to pace.

“It’s OK,” Tricia said. “Sometimes moving helps a person work through the stress of this kind of thing, so they can start to think clearly.” But she sat down, and so did Peter. She waited a couple of minutes and when Neal’s pacing slowed she said, “There are some things about Missing Persons cases that are very different from what you’re used to in White Collar. It tends to get more emotional. On the one hand we don’t want to traumatize the family members beyond what they’ve already endured, but on the other hand those same people may themselves be targets or even suspects. Often they know something pertinent without realizing it, or maybe they know something they don’t want made public. Sometimes they’re tempted to go around us to make a deal with the abductors. The result of all of these factors is that family are watched constantly, and we recommend that they don’t communicate with anyone outside the Bureau without one of us present. When it’s a relative of someone in the Bureau who goes missing, we’re supposed to set an example of being completely open with the agents working the case. The fact that you’re a potential next victim makes it even more crucial to watch your every move. It’s not that we don’t trust you, but we’ve learned that people in your circumstances often act in ways that are…”

“Irrational?” Peter suggested.

“At least not in the best interest of solving the case and getting their loved ones home safely,” Tricia said. “Believe me, I know how hard this is for you. I’ve watched many people go through this, and I’ve wanted to make exceptions for some of them. I’ve learned the hard way to follow the FBI guidelines on these cases. Those rules are in place for very good reasons. Remember, it’s not just you going through this. Graham Winslow and Angela’s mother… Paige? They’re in the same situation in D.C. right now. The best thing you can do for your cousins is to tell us who you want to call, and then let at least one of us be part of that conversation.”

“Please, Neal, let us help you. If you don’t cooperate, you might be treated as a suspect,” Peter warned.

“Yeah? Lucky I’m used to that.”

“I was afraid of this,” Peter said. “You claimed there was nothing more you needed to say about the monitoring, but you aren’t really past it, are you?”

“Maybe I would be if it stayed in the past, but now you’re saying it has to start up again.”

“You know this isn’t the same thing.”

“It feels the same,” Neal said.

“How about we do something to make it feel different, then?” Peter suggested. “This time you set some of the parameters. Name an agent here you’d feel comfortable with. One agent to keep watch over you until we find out what happened to your cousins. Think of this as picking a bodyguard, keeping in mind a bodyguard has to stick by your side to keep you safe.”

“Not just who, but how long,” Neal amended. “We try this for 24 hours. If I don’t like how it’s going, we renegotiate.”

“It’s a deal,” said Peter. “Which agent am I sending home with you?”

“Diana Berrigan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Disclaimers: The Public Affairs “Double Blind” policy is an invention to add to the drama. Tricia’s explanation of how Missing Persons cases are handled is also crafted for dramatic effect. I don’t know how teams actually get their probies.
> 
> I’m glad to have Diana in the series at last. In canon she was a probie on Peter’s team in 2009. I doubt anyone stays in the probie role for 5 years, so I hope you’ll forgive my messing with the timeline here. We missed Diana enough to bring her into the AU early.
> 
> Thanks as always to Silbrith for excellence in editing, beta-reading, and friendship.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Normally I post every Sunday night, but there will be a few breaks over the summer. The first of those breaks will be over the 4th of July weekend. I will post Chapter 26: The Babysitter on July 12.


	26. Babysitter

**June’s mansion. Monday evening. July 12, 2004.**

With Henry Winslow and Angela Caffrey missing, and the possibility that Neal might be the next target, Peter wanted to lay down the law. He wanted to take Neal home with him and watch him like a hawk.

Neal preferred to stay at his own loft, and conventional wisdom indicated that if a kidnapper tried to send a message to Neal, it would probably go there. Peter had asked Neal to select one agent he would trust to keep watch over him and Neal had unexpectedly picked an agent he’d just met: probationary Agent Diana Berrigan, visiting from D.C.

Maybe Neal thought a junior agent who didn’t know him would be easy to trick. But Berrigan – she’d asked everyone to call her _Diana_ – seemed tenacious, and was determined to atone for her part in the unfeeling way Neal had learned his cousins were in trouble.

Tricia had briefed Diana on what she needed to know of Neal’s background and skills before leaving with Agent Young to canvass the airport. They planned to interview airport employees who might have seen Henry and Angela yesterday afternoon. Now Agents Silva and Jones were at June’s mansion with Diana, Neal and Peter to set up equipment that could track calls from a kidnapper. Neal didn’t have a landline, but June did, and she agreed to let the agents work their magic with her phone. There was also equipment that could be attached to Neal’s cell phone. Neal agreed to plug the device into his phone if he received a call he deemed suspicious, but insisted that it was his decision when to use or ignore the Bureau’s equipment.

While Silva trained Neal on how to use the device, Peter quietly explained the situation to June, including the fact that Neal might be a target, and that Diana would be acting as bodyguard and angel on his shoulder to keep Neal from doing anything desperate to find his cousins. “If you want to get away for a few days, everyone would understand,” Peter told her. “Or if you’d prefer we take Neal to a safe house, that’s also an option, but whoever’s behind this might still target you or his loft in an attempt to find him.”

June wanted to stay home, and welcomed her new houseguest graciously. “Would you like a room near Neal’s?” she asked the probie.

“No, I’ll need to stay within sight of him,” Diana told her.

It was nearly 7pm. They’d eaten Chinese takeout in the office while waiting for the equipment to be prepared. Silva had taken advantage of the delay to ask Neal about his cousins, hoping for a clue to where they’d gone or what had happened to them. Somehow Neal managed to fill the time with interesting and even insightful stories, while still giving Peter the impression that he was carefully leaving something out.

Now Peter recommended that Diana take advantage of the place being filled with agents to grab some sleep. Then she could stay awake later and make sure Neal didn’t try to slip away, potentially endangering himself. Between Tricia’s warnings and her own common sense, the probie quickly agreed to Peter’s suggestion. She followed him up to Neal’s loft, got a quick tour of the space, and then curled up on the sofa. Peter promised to wake her before he left.

Agent Silva had given June and Neal advice about watching out for anything suspicious, and was leaving with Jones when Peter walked downstairs. They were going to spend the evening watching security footage from the airport, hoping to catch a glimpse of what had happened to Henry and Angela.

Peter accepted an offer of coffee, which sent Neal to the kitchen. Alone with June, Peter said, “He doesn’t want the Bureau prying into his life. He’s going to see us as invading his privacy rather than trying to protect him, and a lot of that’s my fault. I got worried and turned into a control-freak recently, and he’s still smarting from that. Now he’s going to resist our help. I know if he really wants to he can slip out of here and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’d be personally grateful for anything you can do to convince him not to go lone wolf.”

“I’ll make sure the agent staying with us gets plenty of coffee,” June said. It was helpful, but not exactly a promise to take Peter’s side.

“With caffeine?” Peter asked.

She smiled. “My chef refuses to work in a kitchen stocked with decaf. You can be assured your agent will get the real thing.”

Neal returned with the coffee. “Thanks,” Peter said. He took a sip. Neal hadn’t repeated his wish to call someone, which gave Peter a theory about who he’d wanted to talk to. “Is Mozzie back from his mission in Philadelphia?”

“He came back last week, and was inspired.” Neal had been looking a little frayed around the edges the last few hours, but the reminder of Mozzie’s trip to Philly made him smile. “He felt a surprising kinship to the Caffrey Caravan. He thinks he might have gypsy blood.”

Peter raised a brow. “Any chance your cousins are with the caravan?”

“Unlikely. Last I heard the caravan was in Pittsburgh with plans to head southwest for the next couple of weeks.”

“I didn’t get to hear everything with Silva after we got here. Did he give you a hard time?”

“Nah. He kept it low key.”

“Good. Silva and Young are here to help, you know. If it ever feels otherwise, let me know.”

“You don’t think I masterminded the disappearance?” Neal asked.

“That’s not your style. In all your crimes, you’ve never been suspected of hurting anyone. It crossed my mind you might help Henry and Angela hide if they were in danger from Robert, but not like this. You wouldn’t do something so cruel to Graham or Noelle or your grandparents. I don’t know Angela’s mother, but I’m sure she’s worried sick.”

“Most of them don’t know yet,” Neal countered. “They aren’t suffering.”

“It won’t take long, though. I estimate that if we don’t track your cousins down within 36 hours the Bureau will decide to go public, asking anyone who’s seen them to come forward. There will be no keeping Noelle and your grandparents in the dark then.”

Neal was silent a moment and then said, “I told Silva to watch for Henry in footage around the international flights.”

“Because Angela flew in from Canada?”

“Because Henry timed his layover to occur when Noelle, Dor and Dressa would be at the terminal for their flight to Europe. He probably intended to surprise them by showing up in person to wish them a good trip.”

Peter nodded. Henry was a game player whose strategies could be described as labyrinthine. Seeing his family was likely one of several motives for being at JFK at that time. “You got a theory about what happened?”

“Not yet.”

“You gonna tell me when you do?”

Neal shrugged. “Depends on how realistic it is, I guess. No sense sending you down a rabbit hole, right?”

Peter wanted to protest that the FBI should be made aware of any leads and allowed to decide which were viable, but didn’t want get into an argument. “Speaking of rabbit holes and crazy theories, I’m kind of surprised Mozzie hasn’t stopped by.”

“He isn’t a fan of Feds,” June interjected. “I can only imagine what he would have said if he’d seen so many agents in my living room this evening.”

“Something like, ‘Are you opening a Brooks Brother’s store in your house? Why else would you have a rack of suits in here?’” Neal suggested.

Peter noticed the way June had jumped into the conversation again. It reminded him of a theory he’d once had. “Where is Mozzie, Neal?”

“I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

“Is he in Alaska?” Peter wondered exactly how embedded Mozzie was in the con to convince Robert that Heinemann had been located in Alaska and was being recruited by Win-Win. The more deeply Mozzie was involved, the more he worried about the scheme spinning out of the Bureau’s control.

“Nope,” Neal said. “He doesn’t like to go that far north. Something about the pole and magnets.” He shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand it. I just respect his choices and avoid the lectures.”

Peter could certainly understand that. But he also noticed a lack of answers to his original question. If Mozzie wasn’t in Alaska, but was actively involved in conning Robert into believing something important was in the works there, where would he go? “Is he in Seattle?”

“Isn’t that a lovely city,” June said. “Especially this time of year.” She asked Neal a few questions about his visit there for Angela’s birthday party.

Peter waited it out and then asked, “How long has Mozzie been in Seattle?”

June shrugged. “Would you care for more coffee?” When Peter refused a refill, she took his cup and said, “I’ll get these out of our way.”

Neal watched her go and then said, “I don’t know his itinerary, Peter. When I talked to him Sunday, he mentioned he had a flight in a few hours but he didn’t go into details. He was distracted by something else.”

Peter was trying to decide between asking what had been distracting Mozzie or what time he’d spoken to Neal, when Neal suddenly sat up straight in his chair. “What?” Peter asked.

“I had assumed he wouldn’t seek out Henry in the airport, but thinking back on our conversation that morning, I’ll bet he did.”

“He knew Henry’s flight schedule?”

“Yeah, we talked about it. Mozz has been acting as an intermediary between me and Henry, to keep me off Robert’s radar. They shouldn’t have needed to meet in person because they’ve been communicating regularly. In fact, Mozz would normally want to avoid being seen with him, knowing how closely Win-Win is tracking my cousin, but he wouldn’t have been able to resist. Not after I made it clear I wouldn’t help him.” Neal pulled out his cell phone and started dialing. “You can listen to my end, but I can’t put you on speaker. Mozz would never forgive me.” He held the phone to his ear. “Mozz, it’s Neal. Henry and Angela have been reported missing. The mansion was invaded by suits earlier, and we’ve still got two. Call me.” He hung up.

“Would Mozzie have taken them?” Peter asked. “For some bizarre reason that only he understands?”

“No,” Neal said. “But he thought he had to get close to Henry, or at least try. He may have noticed something.” He finally paid attention to Peter’s expression. “What?”

“I’m trying not to impinge on your privacy. Really. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know why Mozzie thought he had to get close to Henry. But I’m also pretty sure I’m going to have nightmares about what he might be up to if you don’t clear this up.”

June walked back to the sofa. “Nightmares? Do I want to hear this?”

“Why not?” Neal said, and June sat down. “The truth is, I’ve kind of been working another case recently. Not a Bureau case. Something just for me.”

Peter was surprised at first, but then he thought about how tired Neal had seemed recently, as if he’d been working two jobs. His original theory had been Neal was earning money for the Columbia tuition, but then he’d been distracted by his fear that Neal was addicted to gambling and had forgotten his idea about the second job. What kind of case would Neal work without telling the FBI?

Neal stood and paced. “You know the birth certificate the Marshals supplied so I could work for you is a fake. I’ve never seen my real birth certificate. Recently I learned that I was born in Baltimore.” He nodded at the surprise on Peter’s face. “Exactly. My parents lived in D.C. Why would I have been born someplace else?”

“Perhaps you were early?” June suggested. “They might have been visiting, maybe a last vacation before your mother’s due date, and you surprised them.”

“That would have been my guess, but Noelle said Mom chose for me to be born there.”

“Maybe your parents had a fight?” Peter suggested. “Stresses of the changes a baby would bring to their lives, in combination with all those hormones. Your dad says something insensitive, your mom gets upset and heads to her sister’s place for a while, and then after you’re born your parents patch things up.”

“Yeah. I could see that.” Neal stopped pacing and leaned on a chair. “There’s something about a trip to England, too. They went to see a specialist. I kind of think I was conceived there, but that’s really weird to talk about with my aunt and grandmother, you know? Instead of telling me what happened they just… giggled.”

Peter nodded. Early in their marriage, he and El had considered having a baby. It hadn’t happened, and telling his mother they’d tried… It was absolutely not a conversation he’d been comfortable with.

“Anyway, because of something I said to him yesterday, Mozzie concluded that I might be Henry’s clone. When I said I wouldn’t supply him with strands of Henry’s hair, Mozz probably decided he could collect some himself if he managed to run into Henry at the airport.”

“You think he wants to run a DNA test?” Peter asked.

“Yeah.”

“And that means he may have been in a position to see who was around Henry near the time of his disappearance, or even what happened to your cousins. Neal, if he knows anything relevant to finding them, you have to tell us.”

Neal shrugged. This time Peter didn’t push him.

He made a mental note to see if he could talk the Marshals into showing Neal his real birth certificate. Maybe it would clear up some of Neal’s questions. And maybe helping Neal uncover the secrets of his past could serve as a gesture of apology for the recent invasion of his privacy in the present.

Peter stretched and stood up. “Getting late. Let me check in with Diana and then I’ll head home.” He took a few steps toward the staircase. “If anything happens, if you even get nervous that something might happen, call me immediately.”

Neal smirked.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Agent Berrigan isn’t going to harass you. Tricia already warned her not to let anything of a, umm, romantic nature happen overnight, and she assured me it won’t be a problem. You’re not her type.”

Neal stared at him. Then his eyes widened. “Oh. I thought the FBI had a policy.”

“That’s the military. We don’t ask. We don’t care.”

Neal wished June a good night and then followed Peter up the steps, arriving as Diana sat up and stretched. He greeted his guest and then made a comment about changing into something less formal. He grabbed pajama pants and a T-shirt, and then walked to the bathroom.

“Looks like he’s settling in for the night,” Diana said. “From what Agent Wiese told me, I know appearances can be deceiving. I won’t make any assumptions.”

Peter nodded, reassured that Diana took this assignment seriously. So many things crossed his mind to tell her. He decided on, “I caught him once scaling down the wall of this place to avoid the main entrance. He was a cat burglar before he turned his life around. And a brilliant con artist.”

Diana nodded politely. Tricia would have already told her this stuff.

Neal returned in pajamas and bare feet, and _Take care of him_ kept running through Peter’s mind. He remembered seeing Neal on life support in February. He remembered the flashbacks Neal had suffered, and his mind replayed the night he’d heard the story of the abuse Neal had endured as a child. The crime scene photo Henry had shown him, of nine-year-old Neal in a pool of blood, would forever be imprinted on his brain.

And none of that was appropriate to share with a probationary agent he’d just met today.

Neal crossed his arms. “Do I have toothpaste on my face or something?” When Peter looked confused, he continued, “You were staring at me.”

Peter blinked. “Sorry. Got distracted.” He looked at Neal. Really looked at him. And he realized he’d been letting those images of a helpless or child version of Neal influence his thinking recently. His desire to protect that boy had caused him to act like a control freak toward the young man who worked for him. “I’m sure you’re itching to call people and go places and look for your cousins. We’re doing everything we can to find them, and we’ll keep you updated. Silva and Young will drop by in the morning, and so will I. In the meantime, Diana is here to help you. She’s not just a bodyguard, Neal. She’s a voice of reason. Try working with her instead of wasting time avoiding or escaping.”

Then Peter turned to face Diana. “The best advice I can give you is: Don’t try to control him. I made that mistake, and I think I’ll regret it for a long time. Just keep up with him, and keep the conversation going. Hearing him out and offering advice is the best approach tonight.”

He walked toward Neal and patted him on the back. “We’ll find them, Neal. And…”

Neal shrugged. “I know. Nothing stupid.”

“Funny how often I say that to one of the smartest people I know. How about this time we go with _I trust you.”_ He smiled at Neal’s wide-eyed reaction. “Yeah, I need to tell you that more often. Be nice to Diana. Don’t let me down.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Diana Berrigan was babysitting a man who was either a suspect or potential victim in a kidnapping case. In a mansion, in Manhattan. This was nothing like what she’d expected when she woke up in her D.C. apartment this morning. Even her Quantico training hadn’t prepared her for this scenario.

Theoretically she should have a lot in common with this guy. Her dad was a diplomat, and so was his grandfather. The grandfather lived in D.C., so they both had family ties there. Both had traveled internationally. They were only a few years apart in age, and both had joined the FBI recently.

Neal’s boss – and her temporary boss – had just left, and now Neal looked a little lost. Understandable, given that two of his cousins were missing and there was reason to suspect foul play. She wasn’t exactly the sweet, comforting type, and was struggling with what to say when she was spared the need to say anything by a knock on the door. The landlady, June Ellington, entered the loft with a thermos of coffee.

Neal took the thermos from her, carrying it to the kitchen counter. Ms. Ellington glanced around while he wasn’t looking, her gaze lingering on a box on the bookshelf. Then she turned her attention to Diana and said, “Is there anything you need, Agent Berrigan?”

_Kid gloves,_ Diana kept telling herself. Agent DeLay had warned her at least a dozen times to be diplomatic. But hell, if she wanted to be a diplomat, she’d have followed in her father’s footsteps. She was a straight shooter. She didn’t hide her sexual orientation, and she wasn’t going to hide her doubts and confusion tonight. “You strike me as an intelligent woman,” Diana said. “Not someone to be taken in by a con artist. But I know what the starting pay range is at the FBI, and it doesn’t cover this.” She gestured around the apartment and its million-dollar view. “What gives?”

June took a seat on the sofa and told a story about her husband and Neal’s help, which did a lot to upgrade Diana’s opinion of him. He might look like a spoiled, rich, frat boy getting by on his looks, but it seemed the looks masked a good heart.

Diana nodded. “Thanks. The last few hours I’ve felt like I’ve stepped through the looking glass into another world. You’ve helped me make sense of part of it, at least.”

“I’m glad I could help.” June stood up. “But a sense of wonder can be a good thing. Don’t be in a hurry to lose it.” Neal had risen when June did, and she squeezed his arm. “And don’t you lose hope. Byron liked your cousin Henry. He’s a smart and resourceful young man.”

“Thanks, June.” He walked her to the door and kissed her cheek.

After he closed the door, he turned around and stood still. He seemed calm, outwardly. But there was a nervous energy to him that worried Diana. Agents Wiese and Burke had warned her that Neal might try to sneak away and go looking for his cousins or the people who took them. What was the point in maintaining a polite fiction and pretending to be ignorant? “It isn’t all that late. Did you put on the pajamas to convince me you’re settled in for the night?”

He chuckled, although he didn’t look happy. “More to convince me. They told you I have a flight instinct, right? I’m desperate to get out of here. Knowing I can’t leave makes me feel even more trapped.”

“If you have a lead, then let’s tell someone about it.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t have any leads. Not really. If it’s politically motivated, I don’t know any of the players. If it’s his dad, I’m at a loss as to how Robert knew Henry would be here, or where he’d take them. If it’s Henry… I mean, I can see him pulling something like this if he had a good reason. Maybe to get Robert’s attention and draw him out of hiding? But we already had a plan in place to get Robert where we wanted him, and that wasn’t in New York.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Nothing makes sense.”

He started to pace, and that didn’t seem like a good sign for someone who tended to run when he was stressed. How was she supposed to calm this guy down? “So, umm, you paint?” There was an easel with a canvas that looked like a work in progress. Artists poured their emotions into their work, right?

“Yeah.” He stopped walking and stared at the canvas. Then he faced her. “But I can’t paint. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… Creating art is soul-baring. It’s not something I normally do in front of people. Especially strangers.”

She got it. But she was running short of alternatives to keep Neal occupied and out of trouble. She looked around for inspiration. “What’s the deal with the ornate box on the bookshelf?”

He looked surprised. Then he walked over to pick up the box. It was made of polished dark wood with brass fittings. He grabbed his keychain from a peg near the door and sat down with the box. He unlocked it, and Diana saw it was filled with…

“Origami?”

“The box was a gift from Byron – June’s husband. He’d filled it with notes to remind himself of the challenges he overcame and his successes in giving up a life of crime. He could read them, or simply see how full it had gotten, to keep his spirits up when he felt tempted to try one more score. In the months I knew him, he was a mentor for me, sharing his experiences and convincing me I could succeed in going straight, too. Byron suggested I use the box the same way he had.” Neal picked up a peacock. “I’ve been folding mine into origami. This one represented a time someone tried to convince me to join his crew again. He appealed to my pride, saying only I could pull off the job he had in mind, and then insinuated I turned him down because I’d lost my edge.” Then he picked up a lion. “This one I added when I passed the entrance exams to get into graduate school.”

He spent a solid 30 minutes telling stories about the items in the box. It calmed him, and it gave Diana an unexpected insight into his personality and his determination to be a law-abiding member of the FBI. “I didn’t expect to say this,” she said as he closed the box, “but I’m impressed.” He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes. “And now we’re back to my first impression. I assumed you used that pretty-boy smile to charm everyone, and the White Collar team used you to get people to spill their secrets. But you’re actually smart, too.”

Neal fluttered his lashes at her. “You think I’m pretty? And Peter told me I wasn’t your type.”

Diana grabbed a pillow she’d been leaning against and threw it at him. He laughed good-naturedly, and she shook her head. He was like the annoying younger brother she’d never wanted. Once again, her expectations for the day had shifted. Who would have guessed she’d find this babysitting assignment fun? “That’s right. You’re wasting your time flirting with me.”

“It’s harmless fun. Like a dance.”

“Well, it seems like you’ve got plenty of dance practice already. No dancing for you tonight.”

Neal put on the fedora that he’d left on the coffee table. It should have looked ridiculous with the T-shirt and pajama pants, but somehow it suited him. “You dig the hat,” he said.

“It is a great hat,” she agreed. “Can I try it?”

He handed it to her, adjusted the angle after she’d put it on, and then waited when she walked over to the mirror to see how it looked. “Yeah, I do look hot. Maybe even better than you.” She turned around, hands on hips. “I could be the next Eliot Ness.”

“Stay there.” Neal grabbed a sketchpad and sat at the table to start drawing.

“What happened to art being too soul-baring for witnesses?”

“It’s different when you’re a model. Anyway, this is just a sketch.”

“Don’t models get paid?”

“Contrary to appearances, I’m not wealthy. I got the loft for a song, and the suits were gift from June and Byron.”

“I’ll take my compensation in information. Talk to me about your cousins.”

He was drawing rapidly, no hesitations. “What do you want to know?”

“The truth. Tell me how you plan to find them, and how I can help. Let’s stop messing around and make some progress on this case.”

He kept drawing. “You’re fresh out of Quantico. The only reason to enroll is because you want to be an FBI agent. Why are you offering to do something that could get you fired?” He looked up, studying her face, ready to judge her response.

She knew she was asking a lot of him, so she dug deep and offered a secret she hadn’t shared with anyone yet. “All through Quantico I was the perfect little trainee. I did exactly what I was told, exactly the way they wanted it, because I wanted to pass their tests and become an agent. But what did I get for it? I’m not an agent, not really. Public Affairs isn’t for me, and maybe if I’d been myself they’d have figured out I’m not a replica of my father the diplomat. It’s time for a bold move, to show everyone what I’m really made of. Then they can either recognize that I belong in a different role, or they can boot me out. Either way, I won’t spend the next few years in an assignment I hate.”

“Hidden inside the mild-mannered probie is a kick-ass agent ready to fight for truth and justice. I like it. If the FBI can’t handle that, I know someone in Baltimore who would hire you.” Neal added a few more lines and then put the sketch down. “Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have any expertise in how the FBI conducts investigations for missing persons. What I have here is intended for dramatic purposes, and not to be an accurate representation.
> 
> It was immense fun to include references to the pilot and some of my favorite lines in this chapter as Neal gets to know Diana. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks to my awesome beta reader and fellow plot bunny wrangler Silbrith.


	27. Crying Wolf

**Neal’s loft.  Monday night.  July 12, 2004.**

With probationary agent Diana Berrigan at least claiming to be on his side, Neal asked her to call Tricia, Jones, Peter and the case agents in D.C. for the status of their search for his missing cousins. 

“They’re just going to tell me they would have called if they had an update,” she protested.

“Don’t tell me you’re in the habit of taking _no_ for an answer,” Neal countered.  “Remind them you’re watching someone who’s a flight risk, and that I’ll be more likely to follow your orders and stay here if I believe they’re making progress.  Anything they can tell you will help.  Push for as much as you can get.”

Neal had his own list of people to call.  Since it was almost 10pm he started with Graham Winslow, who usually turned in around that time.  Partly to test out the equipment, and partly on a hunch, he attached to his cell phone the tracking and recording device the Missing Persons agents had recommended he use.

Graham sounded disappointed when Neal said he didn’t have any news to share.  “I’m checking with the agents here,” he promised Henry’s grandfather.  “If I learn anything, I’ll let you know.  Right now the focus is on JFK.  They’re looking at security cam footage and talking to airport employees who might have seen what happened.”

“I wish I’d heard about Heinemann sooner,” Graham said.  “With so many cameras and hours of grainy security footage to watch, his technology would speed up the process considerably.”  There had been voices in the background, but they started to fade as if Graham were walking away from them.  Then one voice was clear, admonishing Graham to stay in the room while he was on the phone.  Graham seemed to cover the phone, so Neal didn’t hear the response, but his tone was sharp.  “Damned Feds,” Graham muttered.  “Make me wonder if I was crazy to think Win-Win could work with the FBI.  They keep reminding me why my father left the Bureau in the first place.”

“You’re still at Paige’s house?” Neal asked.

“That’s right.  I can’t tell you how much I want to go home, but the poor girl is a mess.  Still grieving over her husband, and then her only child goes missing…  Half the time she’s staring into the distance, the other half she’s weeping.  Got a houseful of agents whispering and staring at her, when anyone can see what she needs is a hug and a shoulder to cry on.  It’s like they all sighed a breath of relief when she decided to take a sleeping pill and go to bed.”

“What if someone tries to call your home with a ransom demand?” Neal asked.  He wasn’t sure how Paige was doing financially, but he was fairly certain Graham was the wealthier of the two.

“The landline is forwarded here, and my daughter agreed to camp out at the house with an agent in case a message is delivered in person.”

“What about Julia?” Neal asked.  He’d hoped she would be performing her own data magic. 

“I love her, but she isn’t a people person, you see, and as my second wife she isn’t related to Henry.  When she learned the FBI was descending on the house, she made an _executive decision_ to head off to her next conference early.  She didn’t think she could stay focused on her research with a house full of agents.”

In other words, she was working her magic on their sailboat, away from prying eyes.  “Do you have any theories about what happened to Henry and Angela?” Neal asked.

“Could be political, but if so I’d have expected someone to take credit for grabbing them.  I didn’t care for the insinuation the kids might have disappeared to party.  My grandson isn’t that thoughtless, and he’s always said Angela’s a considerate girl.  Hard to believe she’d do something to put her mother in such a state.  Still, I told the agents every family member and family friend who has a boat in the New York area, so they can confirm Henry isn’t hiding or travelling on the water.  Paige mentioned that Angela has a pilot’s license, and the agents haven’t found any record of her filing a flight plan.  That leaves Robert.”

“After the news came out about you recruiting Heinemann and sending Henry to Alaska, I assumed Robert would be focused on the West Coast.”

“As did I, but he would have known I’d want to talk to Henry and brief him in person before sending him on such an important assignment.”

“He knew Henry would go home,” Neal said.  “Just like I wasn’t surprised that Henry arranged a layover that let him see his mom and grandparents and then travel with Angela.”

“Noelle sometimes reminds me that behind the intelligence and mischievousness, there’s a sweet boy.  Robert knows that.”

“He hates it.”

Graham sighed.  “That he does.  It’s not a trait he approves of for Win-Win’s CEO.  But like it or not, he’s aware of it, and not above using it.  The Ambassador’s trip to Geneva was in the news.  It wouldn’t be that hard to find out his approximate travel schedule and guess that Henry would want to see him off.”

“So Henry arranges his travel to let his mom and grandparents know that he’s safe and going home, and that’s what puts him in danger.  Why didn’t I see it?”

“None of us did,” said Graham.  “Not even Henry.  He made the reservations at the last minute, and JFK is a massive airport.  I still don’t know how Robert found him, much less lured him and Angela away.  It’s not like he wandered in, hit both of them over the heads and dragged them off.  People would have noticed and reported an attack.  Getting them out of the airport required finesse.”

“I tend to think of Robert as more of a blunt force guy.”

“That’s his preference, but he’s smart.”

They each promised to stay in contact if they learned anything, and then Neal moved on to his next call.  For this one he disconnected the FBI’s device from his phone.  Julia Winslow mentioned that she had almost finished her additional research into Masterson but had put it on hold to look into Henry’s disappearance.  “I haven’t any direct leads on Henry so far,” she told Neal, “but this morning I added Jason Ford to my set of search criteria.  I found he’s been in New York for over a week.”

So much had happened today, it was hard to believe that only this morning they had confirmed Jason Ford was Robert’s accomplice, aka Ferrari.  “Any idea where he’s staying?”

“He checked out of his hotel Sunday, but I haven’t found any return travel.”

“Will you let me know if you find Ford?” Neal asked.  “It doesn’t matter what time it is, if you find him, call me.”

“Naturally,” Julia said.  “I doubt any of us will sleep well until Henry and Angela are safe and sound.”

Seeing Diana was still on the phone, Neal decided he had time for another call.  This time he spoke with Lawson Hunter in Austin.  “Remember the guy Henry told you about when he was in the hospital?  The one he was so scared of?  We put a name to him today.  It’s Jason Ford.”

“Are you going to arrest him?” Lawson asked.

“I’m working on it.  Henry’s in some trouble right now, and everything I’ve learned makes me think Ford had a hand in it.  The problem is, the only thing we can charge him with is hacking.  I’m going to have an uphill battle convincing anyone that Henry’s in danger from this guy, because he doesn’t have a record or any history of violence.  Is there any way to file charges, there in Texas?  That would force the Bureau to take him seriously as a suspect.”

“Tricky,” said Lawson.  “He never really laid a hand on Henry, and it’s going on eight years now.  I’d have to look into the statute of limitations.”

“It didn’t stop eight years ago.”

“But do you have any evidence of that, or is it just your word against Ford’s?”

Neal ran his free hand through his hair.  “I don’t have any evidence.  If Henry did, I don’t know where he kept it.”

“You know my specialty is contract law, but one of the other partners in the firm has expertise in this area.  I’ll check with her first thing in the morning.  Even if we can’t make a charge stick, filing it might be enough to make an FBI agent pay attention. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

“Thanks.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

The call from Diana Berrigan had Peter worried at first, but once she assured him that Neal was safe, he was glad for a chance to check in with her.  “I remember being in your position,” Peter said.  “I’d done well in Quantico, was confident in my abilities and impatient to get a case I could sink my teeth into.  But now I understand how my first boss must have felt, not wanting to let me do anything until he saw what I could do.”

“Sounds like a catch-22,” Diana said.

“It is.  I hope you’re not frustrated by what seems like a babysitting assignment.  In the chaos this afternoon I didn’t take the time to express how important it is to keep Neal away from whoever took his cousins.  Not only because he’s part of the FBI family, but also because it could be disastrous if Neal were to end up in the wrong hands.  He has several unique skills that we were relieved to take off the market, at least from the bad guys’ perspective.”

“I understand.  I know you had a lot on your mind, but you don’t have to worry.  Agent Wiese did a good job of filling me in.  I wish I had a mentor like her back in D.C.”

“I’m lucky to have her on the team,” Peter acknowledged.  “But getting back to your role tonight, is there anything you need?”

“Yeah, actually, there is.  Everyone warned me that it would be best to keep Neal busy, or at least to keep his mind occupied.  Even he admitted it.  So we’re making some calls to get the latest info and assure him that the case is moving forward.  You’re on the list he assigned me.”

“Assigned?”  Peter knew a lot of agents who would resist being assigned tasks by a consultant.

“He knows more of the players than I do, both on the FBI side and the victims’ side.  I’d be a fool not to take his advice.  Just I’d like be a fool to blindly follow someone who’s emotionally compromised.  As long as what he’s suggesting makes sense, I’ll go along, but I’ll keep my brain engaged.”

“Good approach.  Who’s on his list?”

“He said he was starting with Graham Winslow and then would see where inspiration takes him.  I’m not sure who he’s talking to now, but I’ll find out soon.  So far I’ve talked to Agents Wiese and Jones, and next I’m going to hit up the D.C. team.  Do you have any updates you can share with us?”

“I don’t know if I can add to what the others on my team told you, but I can point you to a resource that will keep you updated.  You know normally we’d have a timeline on a wall in the office, and we’d be updating it with everything we learn of what took place Sunday.  In this case, with agents in New York, D.C. and now Baltimore, there’s a virtual board.  All the agents are posting to it online.”

“Great.  Can you send me the link?”

Peter paused.  “Damn.  We overlooked telling you that one of the suspects has an accomplice who has access to the Bureau email servers.  We have to be careful to limit what we share in email communications.  If you’ve got a pen, I’ll read you the URL.”

When Diana confirmed she could access the timeline, she moved on to her next call.  Peter looked at what had been posted to the timeline so far.  He’d been studying it for the last half hour, and it kept pointing to this being some kind of prank by Henry, rather than a real abduction.

“That’s quite a scowl,” said El, who had been in the kitchen brewing a cup of tea.  “Not going well?”

“Depends on your point of view, I guess.  Most of what we’ve learned points to Neal’s cousins being safe.  But if I’m right and they’re just crying wolf, they are going to be in a lot of trouble before this is over.”

Elizabeth sat down beside him at the dining room table.  “Do you think Neal’s in on it?”

Peter shook his head immediately.  “No.  Remember when he called himself Pinocchio, and we talked about how Pinocchio couldn’t get away with lying?  I’ve suspected for a while now that Neal has some challenges lying to me.  This evening, the way June jumped in when she guessed there were things Neal didn’t want to discuss… It made me even more certain.  If I’ve figured it out, I’m sure Henry has.  That means anything Henry wanted to keep from me and from the FBI, he’d also keep secret from Neal.”

Now El frowned.  “I know Henry has a reputation for being mischievous, but he seemed genuinely fond of Neal and his family.  Why would he put them through something like this?”

“Normally, he wouldn’t.  But he’s been under a lot of stress looking for his father.  Neal told me that Henry and Graham both think that Robert will go down shooting and probably die before he’s apprehended.  I’m also worried that Henry might be on something.”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah.  If I’m right, then he isn’t thinking clearly.”

“Oh, hon.” El leaned her head on his shoulder.  “Is there anything we can do for Neal?”

“The best thing is to find his cousins as quickly as possible.  The more time and resources are spent on a wild goose chase, the worse the legal repercussions will be.   The rest of the team is focused on finding them.  My goal right now is figuring out how to get a message to them that will convince them to turn themselves in.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Diana shared the information she’d been able to gather.  After reviewing the timeline in light of what they had learned in their calls, Neal had to agree with Graham.  Robert was smart, brilliant even.  He’d kidnapped two people, making it look like they’d disappeared willingly.  Very soon the investigation would be dropped, with the victims taking the blame.

Security footage had shown Henry walking from his flight to the gate for a flight to Switzerland.  His mother and grandparents were described as surprised but delighted to see him.  He stayed with them about 15 minutes, and then their flight boarded and the timeline said he checked his phone and seemed to be reading through text messages.  Next he walked to a bar, and sat with a man Jones had identified as “Neal’s bartender friend.”  It was still a point of annoyance for Jones that his own attempt to go undercover as a bartender at Highbury had been a bust – they had made him as an agent – and yet Mozzie had been hired.

The timeline had Henry sitting with Mozzie for about five minutes.  Neal didn’t have to see the security footage to guess what had happened.  Mozzie would have started with patting Henry on the back to grab a stray hair, and Henry would have been suspicious.  They may have spoken about Urban Legend, but Mozzie wouldn’t have been able to resist sharing his theory that Neal was Henry’s clone.  On a good day, Henry would have been amused, but on Sunday he probably had a tight schedule and would have been exasperated instead. 

The next stop on the timeline for Henry was the gate where Angela’s flight from Toronto arrived.  He got there only a couple of minutes after the flight was scheduled to arrive, but it turned out the flight was early.  Angela had gotten off the plane ten minutes earlier, and wasn’t at the gate.  Henry then walked to the gate where they were both supposed to board the flight to D.C., but she wasn’t there.  He dialed a number on his phone – the timeline didn’t say but Neal was willing to guess it was Angela’s number – but it looked like he simply left a message on voicemail.

Meanwhile Angela’s timeline had her getting off the flight from Toronto and then stopping in a restroom on the way to her next flight.  According to Diana, on leaving the restroom she looked tired or confused, pausing for a full minute to read the signs and reorient herself on her way to her next gate. 

A woman had followed her out of the restroom and seemed to ask if Angela needed help.  The stranger walked with her toward the gate, and then pointed toward baggage claim and the exit.  She seemed to suggest that Angela should go outside for some fresh air.  The woman called out to a man walking in that direction and appeared to ask him to escort Angela, and he walked out with her.

The man had been wearing an Air Marshal uniform, with a hat that obscured his face from the security cameras. 

At the same time Henry was walking toward Angela’s gate, the Air Marshal was outside with Angela, who gave every appearance of being intoxicated.  The Marshal hailed a town car and got Angela in the backseat.  The team was trying to track down the car and where it had gone.

As the car left, the Marshal was seen squatting down, and seemed to pick up a cell phone.  He looked at it, grabbing a pen and writing a phone number on his hand.  He went inside and turned in the phone to a lost-and-found.  The FBI had already retrieved the phone and identified it as Angela’s.  Then the Marshal pulled out his own phone and seemed to call the number he’d written on his hand.

The timeline showed Henry receiving a call at that same time.  He spoke to the caller a few minutes, then walked outside, going through the same door Angela had used.  He hailed a cab, and that’s where the timeline ended.  The cab driver hadn’t been tracked down yet to find out where he’d taken Henry.

Likewise, the Air Marshal who’d helped Angela hadn’t been identified yet.

Neal knew how it looked to the FBI agents.  Angela had overindulged on the first flight, was deemed too drunk to board the next flight, and had been sent to a hotel to sleep it off.  Or perhaps she’d been sent to a doctor.  Henry got the message of where she’d gone and followed.  They were a pair of wealthy, indulged young people, and they’d decided to hang out in New York and party.  Peter knew about Neal’s concerns that Henry might turn to drugs.  Peter knew about the Shawn Hunter alias, and knew Neal had described Shawn as the type of person who inspired legends of trickster gods.  He would take all of that as evidence that Henry was to blame for the fact the neither he nor Angela had been heard from since leaving JFK.

What Neal believed was something different.  The woman in the restroom had drugged Angela, and the Air Marshal had been someone in a fake uniform.  Probably either Robert Winslow or Jason Ford.  One of them directed a confused Angela outside, and the other drove her away in the town car.  They knew that when Henry couldn’t find her, he’d call or text.  Taking Angela’s phone and making it look to the cameras as if she’d dropped it, the fake Marshal was able to see Henry’s number on the caller ID when he called.  After giving Henry a few minutes to worry while taking Angela’s phone to the lost and found, Ford or Robert then called Henry letting him know they had Angela.  They would have warned him not to contact anyone for help, and then given him a location where they wanted to meet.

How was he going to convince the Bureau that the Air Marshal was a fake, and that his cousins were in danger?

Stuck in his loft with an FBI babysitter, Neal felt confined.  Abruptly he stood up and opened the balcony doors.  The breeze and view gave a temporary sense of freedom, but the headlights and sounds of traffic made him want to move.  He needed to get out of here, to _do_ something.

“Neal?” said Diana. 

He looked out across the street, into the bushes where Ferrari had stood watching almost a week ago.  Someone was there now.  Neal turned toward Diana.  “Do you like music?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have any expertise in how the FBI conducts investigations for missing persons. What I have here is intended for dramatic purposes, and not to be an accurate representation.
> 
> My usual thanks for outstanding beta Silbrith for her encouragement, wisdom, and patience. She put up with my rambling vacation updates and still managed to stay awake and alert enough to strengthen the ending of this chapter.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading. Next week I’ll post a chapter titled “Howling at the Moon,” where Neal and Diana go on a little adventure.


	28. Howling at the Moon

**Neal’s loft. Monday night. July 12, 2004.**

Diana’s first hour of watching Neal had been interesting but relatively sedate. Suddenly there was a whirlwind of activity. After reviewing the timeline Missing Persons had built and then stepping out to the balcony for what passed for fresh air in Manhattan, Neal came inside and got dressed in all black, looking remarkably like the cat burglar she’d been warned he used to be. He placed a couple of phone calls, and then he told Diana they were going to a bar in the Lower East Side. He’d grabbed a guitar case from a closet and was ready to carry it out with him, expecting her to follow.

He seemed to think, either because she was a junior agent or because she felt guilty about how he’d learned about the disappearance of his cousins, that she’d be a pushover. It was time to show him she had a backbone. “Not so fast.” She stood in his path. “I said I’d help if you had a lead, but I’m not blindly following you. We’re partners, or we aren’t going anywhere. So spill, partner. What’s going on?”

“I caught a glimpse of someone watching us.” He shook his head as Diana started to break in. “Yeah, we could call someone to come check it out. Maybe they’ll get eyes on him. More likely they’ll spook him and he’ll get away. If it’s who I think it is, he has a lot of practice in surveillance. The best way to see if I’m right is to lead him someplace where he can’t hide in the bushes.”

“Like a bar?”

“I called. They’re open another couple of hours, and it’s a Monday night. The crowd is light, and they’re listening to a DJ who could use a break. I know the manager. He’ll let me perform. You can hang back and get a look at our lurker. If we’re lucky, we can get a photo.”

“I don’t have any surveillance equipment with me,” Diana protested.

Neal grinned. Already Diana distrusted that grin. “We’re in luck. The White Collar team has an expert in surveillance who’s willing to meet us at the bar. His name is Travis Miller. He’ll try to get the photo. Slip him this,” Neal held the device the Missing Persons agents had provided to record calls to Neal’s cell phone. “I want him to download my call to Graham Winslow and send part of it to Peter by email.”

“Wait. Agent Burke said our email was compromised. One of our suspects could intercept the message.”

“That’s exactly what I want. C’mon.” Neal put an arm around Diana’s waist and pulled her toward the door. “I’ll explain the rest on the way.”

“I get to wear the hat,” Diana said, slipping away from him to pick it up. Downstairs, Neal pulled a set of keys out of a bowl in the entryway, and led Diana to a car. “You own a Jaguar?” she asked in surprise.

“It’s June’s. Nice and flashy, so our tail won’t lose us.”

When they’d driven half a mile Diana said, “While I watch for this supposed tail, how ‘bout you fill me in on the rest? You said you think you know who it is?”

“His name is Jason Ford. We believe he’s been helping Robert Winslow stay hidden these last couple of months. I think he was either the Air Marshal in the airport yesterday, or the driver of the town car that took Angela away. He used to work for Winston-Winslow – they’re like a private investigation firm on steroids. He has experience tailing suspects, and he’s the one who got access to our email.” Neal made a left. “Black sedan. Can you get the plates? It might be the town car from the airport.”

“No, it’s a smaller model of car. But you’re right, it’s following us.” She wrote down the license plate number. “How’s this Agent Miller of yours going to recognize him?”

“He’s seen a picture of Ford.” Neal drove a couple of minutes in silence and then said, “You said you were ready to make a bold move to prove your mettle as an agent. Did you mean it?”

“Bold, not stupid. What are you gonna spring on me now?”

“When I’m done playing my set, I’m going to slip away. When Ford realizes I’m not coming back he’ll go looking for me, and when he gives up then Travis can follow him. With any luck he’ll head back to where they’re keeping Henry and Angela. Or at least he’ll call to check in, and maybe Travis can hear Ford’s side of the call.”

“When does this become bold?”

“Ford isn’t stupid. He has to guess you’re assigned by the FBI to watch me. What would really sell the con is if you let me leave the stage alone, and wait a few minutes to follow after me. Then suppose he comes across you in the alley, while you’re pretending to call in with a report that I gave you the slip. He’ll assume I’m long gone, and then his goal will be avoiding you. Therefore he’ll be less likely to notice Travis.”

“In other words, I won’t have eyes on you. My entire job tonight is to make sure you don’t leave my sight, and you’re asking me not to do my job. If anything happens to you, my career is toast.” Diana pondered her options. “Where will you be while I’m pretending to look for you?”

“I’ll hide in the bar manager’s office. It’s around the corner from the restrooms.” Neal turned right. “We’re about two minutes away. What’s it going to be?”

“How many songs are you performing?” Diana asked.

“I told the manager I’d do three.”

“Fine. Here’s how it’s gonna work. In the middle of the third song, your Agent Miller heads toward the restrooms, at least that’s how it’ll look. But he’ll actually be in the manager’s office. Once you show up, he’ll text to let me know you’re in place. Then I’ll head back. My call to report I lost you will actually be to Miller. When I say the word _lost_ , that’ll be his cue to come out and follow Ford. I’ll head in at the same time. You stay in the office.”

Neal gave her Agent Miller’s cell phone number while he parked the car. He didn’t look pleased. Diana guessed he’d wanted to use his time alone to slip away or at least make a call she wouldn’t know about. Her modifications to the plan limited his ability to do either. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the black sedan pull into a parking spot. She held out a hand imperiously. “And give me the car keys and your wallet.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. The driver of the sedan is watching. You want him to see me as an FBI babysitter, not your partner in crime. Letting you leave your home at all was a stretch. I’ve got to flex my bodyguard muscles now to sell your con.”

She guessed Neal’s reluctance wasn’t just an act to sell the con, but he turned over the keys and wallet. He carried the guitar back to the manager’s office, and she followed. The bar manager joined them to learn which songs Neal planned to perform, and Diana used the time to call Miller with her revisions to the plan. He seemed flexible, willing to take her lead, and she sighed a breath of relief. Maybe she really could pull this off, keeping Neal safe while also helping to identify the person following him.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal thanked the audience before he started his performance, saying he’d had a rough day and was looking to unwind. Smiling in Diana’s direction he said, “My lovely colleague generously agreed to take a chance on listening to a rank amateur. I’ll do my best not to let her down.”  

As he expected, the crowd was light on a Monday night, but they appreciated the live music. They applauded and whistled at the end of each song. Fitting his mood that night, he sang “My Hero” by Foo Fighters, “Disappear” by Hoobastank and “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum. Then the DJ returned and Neal thanked everyone again. “You’re too kind. Now I’m gonna stow the guitar and take my payment in the form of a vodka martini.”

“I’ll have one waiting for you!” the bartender called out.

Neal left the stage and walked down the hall, out of sight. As expected, Travis was waiting for him in the manager’s office. Travis confirmed that he’d recognized Jason Ford and gotten a picture without the suspect noticing. After that they remained quiet, not wanting Ford to hear them when he followed Diana outside.

Soon Diana walked by with the bar manager, insisting he show her the back entrance. Then the call came, sending Travis out to follow Ford. Neal had at most a couple of minutes before Diana returned. He slipped out of the manager’s office into the hallway, and found the door that connected the bar to the music shop next door. It was kept locked, but both business owners had spent their security budget on the external doors. This door’s lock was old and not very secure. Neal picked it in seconds and slipped into Randy Weston’s music shop. The shop was closed and dark, but Neal knew his way around. He found the backroom and the guitar Randy was holding for Henry. Last time there’d been a business card in the lining of the guitar case, and by now Henry must have realized that Neal had found the card and the phone number it contained – Graham’s satellite phone. If for some reason this disappearance had actually been planned by Henry, Neal was certain his cousin would have left him a message in a place known to Neal, but where the FBI wouldn’t know to look. This was the only place Neal could think of.

A quick search of the guitar case yielded another business card. This time it was one of Graham’s Win-Win cards. It had a date on it – before Neal had spoken to Henry in Philadelphia – and the only message was, “An article in _The Times_? Showoff.” It was in Henry’s handwriting.

So he’d seen the article about the music lesson Neal Legend gave with Theo Guy. Henry was staying on top of the Masterson con. But there was nothing to indicate that Henry intended to disappear. Neal put the guitar away and, listening at the door to make sure the corridor was silent, slipped back into the bar locking the door behind him. He stepped into the manager’s office, almost running into Diana, who was striding out of the room. “Where were you?” she asked. “You were supposed to stay here.”

Neal gestured vaguely down the hall. “It seemed like a good time to visit the men’s room. Did everything go according to plan?”

“Yeah, you nailed it. That Ford guy was hanging around the end of the alley, making it look like he was just outside for a smoke, but close enough to hear what I was saying. Agent Miller is following him now. He said he’ll stop by your place with an update.”

“OK.” With Travis acting as temporary FBI lead on the Robert Winslow case, he would be in an excellent position to help Neal with the next steps he had in mind.

The bartender called out when he saw Neal return, with a reminder of the drink Neal had requested.

“Want anything?” Neal asked Diana. She declined, but sat beside Neal. He supposed he should make small talk, but he couldn’t silence the questions running through his mind. Where would Robert take Henry and Angela? What would he do with them?

“You do this often?”

Neal looked blankly at Diana. “Do what?”

“The whole singing thing. Is it like a hobby?”

“Yeah. I learned about this bar back in January. I don’t have much time to come here anymore, though.”

Diana nodded and remained silent a couple of more minutes before asking, “Why here? Of all the places we could have gone, of all the scenarios to see and track Ford, this one seemed like a lot of trouble. Why didn’t we try something less complicated, like going to a bar closer to your home?”

“Peter will tell you it’s my nature to complicate things.” He put his empty glass down on the bar. “You ready to go?”

“Sure.” Diana led the way to the door. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said as they stepped outside.

“Singing is kind of a family thing,” Neal said, somewhat amazed he was so involved with the Caffreys now that he actually had _family things_. “Henry’s the one who told me about this place. Coming here, singing, it’s like… I don’t know… A moment of solidarity, maybe? Getting strength from a shared experience, I guess.” They crossed the street to where the Jaguar was parked. “I’m worried that the Bureau will interpret the security footage to mean my cousins disappeared of their own free will. I don’t think they would do that. But if they did, then this is a place they might go, or at least the place where they would be most likely to send a message for me. I had to check, to be sure. Now when the hordes of agents descend on June’s mansion tomorrow, I can say without any doubt that they’ve been kidnapped.” They’d been standing in front of the Jaguar for a while now. “You’ve gotta give back the keys.”

“Nope. I’m the bodyguard. I’m driving.”

“Do you know your way around? Driving in New York is not for the faint of heart.”

Diana scoffed. “Do I look faint of heart?” She unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. As she checked the rear view mirror she admired how she looked in the fedora.

“You realize you have to give back the hat, right?” Neal asked.

“Yeah. I think I’m going to get one of my own. I could rock a fedora, but I want mine to be gray.” She started the car and navigated into the traffic of the city that never sleeps. Soon she was pulling the car back into its spot at Riverside Drive and muttered, “Faint of heart, my ass.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Less than an hour later, Travis joined them in Neal’s loft. The fact that he’d joined them so soon wasn’t a good sign. If Ford had led him to the cousins, Travis would have stayed there and called for backup.

“I don’t know if he realized he was being followed, or just being cautious, but he managed to lose me,” Travis explained. “I think he was heading toward Long Island, but I can’t be sure. I called in the plates to NYPD, and they’ll pull over the car if they see it.” Travis handed over the device meant to record and track calls to Neal’s cell phone. “I copied the call you recorded. You said you want the first part sent to Peter by email. You want Ford to listen to it?”

“Yeah. I still think there’s a chance Ford doesn’t realize how serious this is. He may be telling himself that he’s helping Robert talk to his son, rather than kidnapping him. Hearing Graham’s description of how distraught Paige is could help us sway Ford into seeing what’s really happening.” Travis and Diana were seated at Neal’s dining table. Neal stood, feeling as if he were about to lead a briefing. “When you were working the Robert Winslow case today, who were your contacts in Win-Win?”

“Allen Winston. I was supposed to talk to Graham Winslow, but of course he was in D.C. with the agents working the Missing Persons case.”

“Have you heard of a mathematician named Julia Winslow?” Neal asked. When Travis shook his head, Neal said, “She’s an expert in the theory behind data warehousing and data analysis. She specializes in distilling data to make reliable projections, and…” Neal trailed off. He’d looked up some of her papers and had a general idea of what she did, but he hadn’t had the time or inclination to go into the details. It sufficed that Travis looked intrigued. “And she’s Graham Winslow’s wife and consults on this case. She has access to all of the data Win-Win stores for their clients, and I think she still has access to some federal sources too.” He didn’t mention the NSA, since that was supposed to be top secret, but to the best of his knowledge, no one had taken away her access to their accumulated cell phone records. “Here’s what I need you to do.”

Neal walked Travis through the timeline of events at JFK on Sunday, emphasizing the times Henry, Angela and the fake Marshal used their cell phones. Julia should be able to track the call to Angela’s phone, giving them the number Henry had been using. Then they could track the call from the fake Marshal to Henry, and perhaps track the activity and location of both Henry and the Marshal’s phones since leaving the airport.

“If this is really a kidnapping, they would have taken your cousin’s phone, and either shut it off or disposed of it,” Diana said.

“Probably so, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. Henry’s good at sleight of hand. He might have managed to keep the phone without them knowing. The fake Marshal’s phone is probably the better lead. Assuming the Air Marshal was Ford, he may have gotten calls from Robert as they planned and executed the kidnapping. If we can track the calls to and from Ford’s phone, we might finally get Robert’s location.”

Travis nodded. “Anything Julia Winslow can give us will help, and it sounds like she has the expertise to provide likely locations even if we have gaps in the data. I look forward to working with her.”

Using Travis’ cell phone, they called Julia and Neal performed the introductions. Then Travis took his phone over to Neal’s sofa, continuing the call on his own as he explained what they needed. Even though Travis was calm, there was an intensity in his face and voice. He took this project seriously, and was in his element.

Softly, Diana said, “That was good. You could have just called Julia Winslow with the request yourself, but this keeps your phone free in case someone calls, and you’re obviously using Agent Miller’s strengths.”

“He’s likely to think of things I won’t,” Neal said. “Both because of his expertise and because he doesn’t have my emotional entanglements distracting him.”

Travis had opened his laptop and was making notes. His voice wafted over. “Yes, I see. Fascinating.”

Diana cocked her head. “Does he remind you a little of Mr. Spock from _Star Trek_?”

Neal smiled. “I advised him to channel Spock for an undercover assignment recently. I have a feeling it must have been a success.”

After more than half an hour of talking, Travis ended the call and stood up. “Thanks for introducing me to Julia. She’s amazing. I’m going to recommend the Bureau add some of her papers to our online training catalog. She’s pulling the data we need, and said she’ll have preliminary findings in the morning. She’ll call me, and then I’ll give you the update.”

“I really appreciate the help,” Neal said. “I feel a lot better about our chances of finding them with you and Julia taking the lead on this part of the case.”

Travis reiterated his promise to send a portion of the call with Graham as an email attachment to Peter, so that Robert’s accomplice would hear it. Then he went home.

Neal’s voicemail to Mozzie earlier had been phrased to tell Mozz to call back at 2am. His friend called exactly on schedule. Recognizing the number, Neal told Diana it was just a friend and not a kidnapper, and then he answered.

“Thanks for calling, Mozz. I’m going out of my mind here. We still haven’t found Henry and Angela, and I think the Bureau is going to conclude they’re just out partying, and drop the case.”

“Typical. Government lackeys are conditioned to accept the obvious and not question anything. How many are there with you now?”

“Only Agent Diana Berrigan.”

“A Lady Suit. Interesting. You haven’t mentioned her before. Has she succumbed to your con man charm?”

“Not exactly, but that doesn’t matter. She’s giving me a little space for this call, keeping me in sight but not actively listening in. Did you see anything at the airport when you talked to Henry? Anything at all that might be a lead? I think either Robert or his accomplice was there, dressed as an Air Marshal.”

“Bold move. They can get into serious trouble for impersonating a Marshal. And no, I didn’t notice anything amiss at the airport. I’ve been making apologies to the venues where Shawn and Grace were supposed to perform, and cancelling performances for the next couple of days. Do you expect the FBI will resort to splashing their pictures in the media if Henry and Angela aren’t found soon?”

“Peter thought it would happen within 36 hours.”

“As much as the Legends have been promoted recently, people are going to recognize them.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neal said. It was a lesser concern than the safety of his cousins, but he worried that his Neal Legend alias would be blown in the process.

“In the end, it could be a good thing. I mean, if the cousins are returned safely home to the fanfare of the press, it means they’re celebrities long enough to make Urban Legend famous.”

Neal took a long breath. “Mozz, you didn’t arrange…”

“No, of course not. But speaking as Urban Legend’s agent, I have to advise you to strike while the iron’s hot.”

“No, Mozzie. I told you that wasn’t an option.”

“Believe me, I understand the value of a good alias. But keep it in mind. Throughout this con you’re gliding on the edge of having your true identities discovered. If that happens, you might as well get something out of it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After his 2am call with Mozzie, Neal finally got some sleep, but woke early to check the timeline for updates. The Marshal who had escorted Angela out of the airport hadn’t been identified, but a note had been added with a description that sounded suspiciously like Jason Ford.

The limo company owning the town car that had taken Angela away claimed a glitch in their records had the vehicle listed as being in their maintenance bay on Sunday for a regularly scheduled oil change and tire rotation. They said they would need time to track down their drivers from that shift to see who had actually been driving it. No automated toll plazas were reporting a hit on the license plate or toll tag.

The cabbie who had picked up Henry at the airport wasn’t much help. His records showed he’d dropped Henry off at Times Square. It was such a busy, crowded place that they weren’t having any luck getting footage of Henry from traffic or security cameras. Neal’s best guess was that Henry had been directed to take another cab from there.

When Peter, Jones, Tricia and the Missing Persons agents arrived at 8am, Neal and Diana were downstairs waiting for them. Last night Peter had offered to bring in breakfast, but June had refused, insisting that breakfast at her home would be prepared by her staff. She’d also brushed off Peter’s suggestion that the meeting could happen at the Federal Building to avoid troubling her staff. “They’re bored,” she’d said, “and afraid I’ll let them go. I hardly entertain at all anymore. Since we lost Byron, I haven’t felt like having company, not on the scale I used to. They’ll be relieved to see I’m not becoming a hermit.”

Gathered around the dining room table, the agents gave their updates, adding little to what Neal already knew. As expected, Agent Silva was leaning toward the theory that Henry and Angela had disappeared of their own accord. “I’ve been told Angela doesn’t have a history of drinking to excess, but that fits into my working theory. Embarrassed to be seen by her mother in such a state, she decided to sleep it off and was too discombobulated to call home.” He even had an explanation for Angela’s drinking. Tomorrow – Wednesday – was the first anniversary of her father’s death. She’d planned to spend that day with family, but rather than be swamped by memories, at the last minute she decided she wanted to get away and forget. “There’s a precedent for that, because she did something similar at Christmas, meeting with the family in New York and then deciding she had to get away. The family confirmed she met up with Henry then, too.” Silva’s version of Sunday’s events had Angela calling her cousin with the master’s in psychology to ask for his help as she tried to cope with her grief, and he’d chosen to join her to make sure she got the distance she needed without going too far.

“He wouldn’t do that without calling Paige,” Neal objected.

“Depends on where they went,” Silva said. “Maybe Angela chose a getaway upstate. There are places up there without cell coverage. If your cousins aren’t familiar with the area, they may have thought they could call, but haven’t been able to get through.”

Peter nodded. “I’ve asked my brother to check out the family cabin. It’s a good place to get away, and Henry would remember the route from the trip in March.”

The spring trip had been when Peter and El had whisked Neal away with Noelle, Henry and Satchmo to deal with Neal’s recurring flashbacks of being abused and abducted as a child. It was a good place to unwind. “But Henry would remember that our phones didn’t work there.”

“There is a landline, but it’s down nearly half the time. Or maybe he’s using that trip as a general inspiration and not planning to use the same cabin. We’re checking with inns and resorts in the area for guests who match your cousins’ descriptions.” Peter had been filling a couple of cups with coffee, and placed one in front of Neal. “Henry isn’t the most level-headed person these days, Neal. His behavior has been erratic, and I have reason to think he’s been using drugs. I understand the pressures driving him, and I’m sure he means well, but you have to admit this is a likely scenario.”

“I can’t disprove it,” Neal admitted, “but that isn’t the only scenario that fits the evidence.” He described his theory of events, with Jason Ford posing as an Air Marshal and Robert as the town car driver.

Agents Silva and Young listened politely, but it was clear they didn’t buy Neal’s theory. “We looked into Jason Ford,” Young explained when Neal was done. “He has no criminal record, and Agent Burke said you had presented him as someone who is primarily guilty of bad judgement. It’s a big leap from there to kidnapping, don’t you think?”

“Not if he believes he’s involved in some kind of intervention, reuniting a father and son so they can confront their issues. And how else do you explain the fact that he was following me last night?”

“Last night?” Peter repeated, glancing at Diana. “You were supposed to stay here.”

Diana described their excursion and that Travis had gotten a picture of Ford at the bar.

Jones spoke up, “It doesn’t have to be related. We’ve been working the Winslow case for several months now. Ford could have been following you at Robert Winslow’s request, regardless of what’s going on with Angela and Henry right now. That was the whole point of your traveling recently, right? To get Robert’s attention?”

“And to goad him to action,” Neal added. “Am I the only one who thinks that’s what happened?”

“The limo company says their car was out with one of their drivers,” Silva pointed out. “How do you explain your contention that Robert was driving it?”

Neal refrained from rolling his eyes. “That company is notorious for renting their cars off the books – usually to criminals who need a vehicle that can’t be traced to them. It’s a cash-under-the-table, no-questions-asked operation. If law enforcement comes around, they claim there was a clerical error, and their records show the car was in maintenance.”

Tricia was making notes. “I’ll look into how many Bureau and NYPD cases include cars from this service that were supposedly in maintenance. If I can show a trend, I can go by their office with photos of Robert Winslow and Jason Ford and put pressure on the staff to identify them.” She faced Neal. “It will take a while, though. Going through old cases for something like this isn’t exactly fast work.”

Silva and Young left shortly after that, to continue their efforts. They conferred briefly with Peter on their way out. Jones and Tricia also left, taking a moment to thank June and her chef for the breakfast.

Peter sat at the table with Neal and Diana. They drank their coffee in silence a moment before Neal asked, “What happens now?”

Peter placed his coffee on the table. “Missing Persons will give it another 24 hours. After that, if there’s no evidence of foul play, they head back to D.C. The case will remain open, but will be deprioritized at that point.”

Thinking of his conversation with Lawson Hunter last night, Neal added, “What if Ford were suspected of other criminal activity?”

“It would affect how we approach the Robert Winslow case, but honestly I don’t see it affecting this case unless we find a real link between Ford and the disappearance. The airport footage wasn’t clear enough to make an identification, not with the hat the Marshal was wearing.”

“Any problem if I let Marshal Annina Brandel know I suspect Ford of impersonating an Air Marshal? If he sees that in her email, it could rattle him. Realizing he’s on the hook for a federal crime could help him realize the seriousness of what Robert is dragging him into.”

Peter nodded. “Should be OK. Let Travis know, since he’s the acting lead on the Winslow case for now.” He took his empty coffee cup over to the tray that had been set up for the staff to carry away dishes. Then he returned to the table but didn’t sit down. “How certain are you that Henry’s in danger, and not just exercising poor judgement?”

“I’m positive of it,” Neal said. “How do I get the Bureau to treat it as seriously as I am?”

“Two things. First, we’re almost ready to take political motivations off the table, and that means we can go public with this case. Canvassing Times Square for people who saw Henry leave his cab won’t work, because so many people pass through that area and don’t stay for long, but we have a window of tourists who were taking videos or photos there and who are still in New York. If we can splash pictures of your cousins – especially Henry – in the news, we could get some leads. We asked Graham about it. He didn’t have any objection, but wanted us to run it by you, too.”

Neal dreaded this, but wasn’t surprised. “What’s the other thing?”

“If you’d tell us the aliases Henry and Angela have used in the past, we could run searches for them in hotels and other venues much faster. If we can eliminate the angle that they’re hanging out someplace under other names, it lends more credence to your view of what happened.”

“I can’t,” said Neal automatically.

“I get it. You’ve made some kind of promise to Henry, and he’ll be mad if you tell me. But Neal, if you really think he’s in danger…” Peter let that hang in the air. “It’s up to you. But you have to see that Missing Persons will doubt you really believe your cousins are in trouble if you don’t think it’s worth giving up a couple of aliases to find them.”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Like I said, it’s up to you. I need to get back to the office. Stay here, and think it over. We’ll talk when you’re ready.” Peter walked to the front door.

“Give me a minute,” Neal said to Diana and he followed Peter outside to his car. He stood on the sidewalk and said, “Peter, please,” not even sure what he was asking for.

Peter turned around, resting a hand on one of Neal’s shoulders and said, “Neal…”

Neal took a deep breath. This was it. This was the tone and the look Peter used when he called Neal _Son_. He had to know by now that any request he made when he said that, Neal would obey. Neal would tell Peter what he wanted to know; he wouldn’t be able to help it. Neal shuddered.

But Peter paused. “I can’t do that to you.”

“What?” Neal asked, shocked.

“I really do regret the invasion of your privacy the last few weeks, you know. If I manipulate you into telling me the truth now, how are we ever going to get back on track?” He removed his hand and studied Neal’s face. “How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Maybe four hours.”

“I’d guess you tossed and turned most of that. You look beat. Hard to make good decisions when you’re scared and exhausted. I’m kind of surprised you managed to stay calm and detached during the briefing this morning. Your emotions have got to be eating you up.” He looked thoughtful, and suddenly said, “What the hell. Neal, son…”

Neal stiffened. Peter was right that his emotions were roiling, ready to bubble to the surface and take over. His breath came a little faster. This was it. Henry would hate him at first, but eventually he’d understand it wasn’t Neal’s fault. He didn’t have a choice. “Yes?”

“Son,” Peter repeated, “go upstairs, get some rest. Call me when you’re ready.” He pulled Neal into a quick hug and then said, “We can do this, kid. If we work together, we can find them.”

Confused, unsure if he felt relieved or disappointed, Neal gave Peter a searching look and then turned around and returned to the mansion.

“You OK?” Diana asked when Neal stepped back inside.

He nearly said, “I’m fine.” That was his automatic response when someone asked him that. But he paused and said, “I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his hair, feeling disconcerted that he hadn’t been able to convince the agents to accept his view of events. He’d been off his game, unable to use his con artist skills to the extent he needed. There should be a solution that got him what he wanted, short of breaking his promises to Henry, but he just couldn’t see it. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised.”

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go upstairs, get some rest.”

“Good idea. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I spent most of the meeting fantasizing about a nap. That sofa in your apartment is looking like heaven right now.”

Neal led the way upstairs. Another day he might have bantered with Diana. Maybe someday he’d tease that from the time they met, she fantasized about sleeping with him, or how they’d spent the night together as soon as they met. Now all he could think about was how his balancing act was about to end. Either he betrayed Henry’s secrets, or he betrayed Peter’s trust that he would do the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual disclaimers that I’m not an expert in FBI procedures… 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, and thanks to Silbrith for beta services above and beyond the call of duty. See the Disclosure Pinterest board for the songs Neal sang in the bar.
> 
> In next week’s chapter we’ll see how much Neal is willing to trust Peter. It’s the big disclosure moment, at last.


	29. Prodigal Son

**Neal’s loft.  Tuesday morning.  July 13, 2004.**

When Peter and the other agents left at 9am, Neal still had a couple of options left.  One of them had to pull through for him.  First was Travis, who was coordinating with Julia Winslow to track the kidnappers.  Travis called as Neal and Diana were walking upstairs to Neal’s loft.

“What did you learn?” Neal asked.

“There’s a phone registered to Jason Ford that seems to have been turned off on Sunday.  Shortly after it stopped connecting to the network, the phone we identified as being used at JFK was purchased and registered as belonging to Jason Ferrari.  He bought it with cash.  No credit card to trace and the billing address he gave is phony.”

Neal opened the door to his loft, and followed Diana inside.  He put his phone on the dining table.  “I’m putting you on speaker so Diana can hear.  So the phone was purchased Sunday, by someone using the alias we associate with Ford.  Can you track him?”

“Sometimes,” Travis said.  “He turns the phone on and off sporadically.  The pattern Julia identified contains an obvious empty spot:  Long Island.  It looks like he turns the phone off when he nears the bridge going there, and turns it on again as he’s leaving.  We believe that’s where he’s staying, and he’s keeping his phone off there because he doesn’t want to be tracked.”

“That narrows down the search area,” Diana said.  “Were you able to run the plates on his car?”

“Yeah, it looks like someone stole those plates off a yellow VW Beetle.  We asked the police to keep an eye out for those plates, but if he realized he was being followed last night he may have switched plates again.”

Neal paced around the table.  “Can you tell us who Ford’s been calling, or who’s calling him?”

“Most calls are to another phone purchased at the same time.  This one is registered to a Robert Hyde.  Robert Winslow used Mr. Hyde as an alias a few months ago, right?” 

“Right.  Have you been able to track that phone?”

“Up until last night it had the same kind of pattern we saw with the other phone, always going dark when approaching Long Island.  Then it popped up at JFK very early this morning, and in Chicago when I was talking to Julia.”

“He’s heading west.  Did he get Henry out of the way to go after Heinemann first?” Neal asked.

“Could be.  In Chicago there was a significant withdrawal made from that secret bank account of his.  It could be to pay for travel, or to pay someone off, or some of each.  I’ve got a clerk going through records of flights from JFK to O’Hare to look for Robert and maybe identify the alias he’s using to travel under.”

It was good, but it didn’t help him find his cousins.  Neal didn’t think Jason Ford would kill them, but he might be convinced to leave them locked up someplace on Robert’s assurance that someone else would look after them, but where they would actually be left to starve.

Putting pressure on Ford could be the key.  After ending the call to Travis, Neal called U.S. Marshal Annina Brandel to tell her that the man who had been watching the mansion earlier that month and who was suspected of hacking into the Marshals’ email had added impersonating an Air Marshal to his list of crimes.

“We don’t take that lightly,” Annina said.  “If you have evidence, I can issue a warrant for his arrest.”

“The security footage isn’t clear enough to prove it’s him, but I’m working on getting evidence.  If we can find him, I’m sure we’ll also find the uniform he was wearing.  In the meantime, can you send an email mentioning what we suspect and the plan to file charges against him?  I want him to be scared.”

“I can do that,” she promised.  “I can’t file a warrant, but I can issue an advisory that we want to find and question him.”

Next Neal checked with attorney Lawson Hunter in Austin.  This time Neal didn’t use the speaker phone, going out on the balcony so Diana wouldn’t hear.

“We can’t press charges,” Lawson said, “but my expert here said we could file a restraining order.  At least we’d have it on record that Jason Ford has a history of harassing Henry.”

That was a double-edged sword.  It would make Ford nervous, but Henry would be furious to be named as a victim in the order.  Neal’s loyalty had been to Henry for seven years, but now it seemed the best way to help his cousin was by breaking his promises.  “Do it,” Neal said.

Back inside, Neal sat at the dining table.  Elbows on the table, face in his hands, he tried to think of any other resource or option for helping his cousins.  He was running out of ideas.  He put his arms down on the table and laid his head down.

He didn’t fall asleep, but he was lost in thought when his phone rang again.  He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the caller ID.  “Hello,” he said, uncertain if it was really her.

“Neal, dear boy,” said his grandmother. 

“Dressa.  Are you still in Switzerland?”

“Yes, we are.  The talks are going well, but Noelle’s in quite a state.  Henry came to see us off, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“It was very sweet of him, and he promised he’d stay in touch.  He was supposed to call Noelle on Monday and he didn’t.  She wouldn’t normally be such a worrywart, but with everything going on with Robert…  Well, she tried calling, and couldn’t reach Henry, not by phone or by email.  That was worrisome enough, and then I checked in with Paige.  She seems a little lost sometimes, and I’d been concerned about leaving her alone.  Tomorrow’s the anniversary of when David…”  She took a breath that sounded like a sob at the thought of her son’s death.

“Right,” Neal said.  “What did Paige say?”

“I didn’t talk to her.  Some stranger answered the phone, and then Graham Winslow was there.  He said Paige was sleeping.  It was nice of Graham to be there, but it’s odd, isn’t it?  I asked to talk to Angela.  She’d planned to go home and stay with Paige, but Graham said she wasn’t there.  He wouldn’t really explain why he was there, or where Henry and Angela are.  They must be together I suppose, in whatever mischief they’re up to, if Graham is with Paige.” 

“I think you’re right.”  Neal was grateful that Irene sounded somewhat befuddled.  If he just confirmed what Graham and the FBI had led her to believe, he wouldn’t have to distress her.

Unfortunately, the befuddlement had been Irene showing off her acting skills.  “I think that’s what I’m supposed to think.  Now tell me the truth,” she insisted.  “What’s happened to them?”

It was surprisingly difficult to evade when Irene Caffrey wanted answers.  Or maybe not so surprising.  She’d had years of practice dealing with Henry.  “I wish I knew.  No one can find them.  Most people think they’re off on some adventure and went out of cell phone range.”

Irene sniffed disdainfully.  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“No.  At first the FBI thought they might have been abducted by someone who wanted to influence the Ambassador, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.  No one’s tried to contact you, right?”

“No one at all.  We’ve been left distressingly in the dark.  Please tell me you aren’t going to contribute to that.  I don’t like being in the dark.”

Neal sighed.  “I’m sure Robert’s behind it.  There’s a whole FBI team focused on finding them, and we’ve learned a lot in the last 24 hours.”

“You’ll find them?” Irene’s voice held a mixture of determination and worry.

“Yes, I will,” Neal promised.

“And you’ll be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  After they said their goodbyes, Neal checked his watch.  Almost 10:30.  He considered his options, and realized he was down to one.  He called Peter.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Elizabeth Burke checked her Burke Premiere Events email account again.  Still no new messages. 

That’s how it went when you opened a new business.  Sometimes you couldn’t keep up, and other times there were lulls.  She was between events.  Her next one wasn’t until next week, and she’d already done as much as she could this far in advance.  She didn’t have any meetings with new clients until tomorrow. 

She’d walked Satchmo, vacuumed, gone grocery shopping and wanted something more intellectually stimulating to do.  She checked her personal email, and saw a message from a former college roommate.  Lisa worked at a radio station in Boston, and had news about the group Urban Legend.  It had been several weeks ago that El had looked at their site at her roommate’s suggestion.  She visited again and saw several more photos and music clips had been posted. 

She also read a series of posts by the group’s agent and fans about some missed and canceled performances.  Lisa had heard a rumor the singers were missing.  They hadn’t been seen since Saturday night, and their agent couldn’t give any definitive information regarding where they were or when they’d be back.

El read the latest information on the site.  Was this a publicity stunt to get more attention for the band, or were they really in trouble?  It was very much like the questions Peter had about Henry and Angela’s disappearance. 

Scrolling through the photos from recent performances, El noticed these were much higher quality.  Last time she’d visited the site, the singers were little more than a blur.  Now you could get a sense of what they really looked like.  El shook her head.  She was so worried about Henry and Angela and Neal that she was seeing them instead of Shawn, Grace and Neal Legend.

Neal Legend.  Wasn’t it interesting that he also spelled his name N-E-A-L?  Usually you saw N-E-I-L. 

She played some of the snippets of their songs.  The audio on her laptop was tinny, but the Legend brothers did remind her of Neal and Henry.  She’d heard them sing a couple of times.  There was the morning they stayed over and Neal played his guitar while she fixed breakfast.  And then Henry sang at their cabin a few months later.  Had she ever heard them sing together?

She looked at the photos again.  It wasn’t just her imagination.  They really looked like –

The front door opened.  Peter was home?  He hadn’t said anything about coming home for lunch, and it was early.  Normally he had lunch at noon or 12:30.  It was only 11:15.  “Hon, is everything OK?”

Peter tossed his suit jacket on the sofa.  “I hope so.  Neal called.  He wants to talk, but not at the Bureau.  He asked if he could come here.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

When Neal called to say he was ready to talk, Peter felt like a heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders.  Finally, Neal was going to trust him with the secrets he’d been keeping.  Leads on the disappearance of his cousins were quickly drying up, and hopefully Neal’s additional information would point the team in the right direction.

On the drive to Brooklyn, Peter started to worry.  These secrets must be a big deal for Neal to have kept them so long, and to have agonized so much over telling Peter.  And he didn’t want to talk about them at the office.  Had he withheld something that could jeopardize his immunity deal with the FBI? 

El picked up on his worry as soon as he got home.  She asked if Neal had eaten anything at their breakfast meeting and Peter thought back.  “An egg, I think.  Some toast?  Mostly he picked at the food.” 

“I’ll put together something, and see if we can tempt him to eat a little more.”  Then El was bustling in the kitchen, pouring juice into a pitcher, brewing coffee, and arranging cheese and crackers and fresh fruit on a plate. 

“Thanks, hon,” he said and pulled her close for a moment after she’d placed the food on the table.  “What would I do without you?”

She reached up and kissed him.  “Fortunately we don’t have to find out.”  Then she slipped out of his arms to return to the kitchen.  He followed, taking the plates she handed him, while she carried juice glasses.  She picked up her laptop to get it out of the way, but didn’t close it.  “Do you remember –” she started, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.  She put the laptop down on the coffee table as Peter hurried to the door to let in Neal and Diana.

Neal noticed El and walked inside to greet her.  “I didn’t know you’d be home.”

“I can get out of your way,” she said.

“No.  Stay.  I’d like you to hear it, too.”

Peter raised a brow at that, and asked Diana in a low voice, “Did he get any rest?”

“Depends on your definition, I guess.  He made some calls, sat at his table and brooded a bit.  Got another call and then called you.  I curled up on the sofa and decided to read rather than nap.  In his state of mind I wanted to keep an eye on him.  I could imagine him being impetuous and deciding to let me sleep while he chased after a lead.”

“Smart.  You’re getting good at reading him,” Peter said, glad that Neal had picked her as his guard yesterday.  Diana had continued to impress both Peter and his team.  Tricia raved about her this morning, and Jones complained that her resume hadn’t been among the set he’d reviewed for their probationary agent opening.  “There’s a guest room upstairs if you’d like to take a break.”

Her eyes lit up.  “I mean this in the most professional sense, but I could kiss you right now.” 

Peter introduced El, who was wonderfully calm about the unexpected guest as she led Diana upstairs.  He led Neal into the dining room and encouraged him to try the snack El had provided.  He was pleased to see the kid actually eating, even if he seemed too preoccupied to taste the food. 

When he heard El walking back downstairs, Peter asked, “Ready?”

“More like resigned.”  Neal took a deep breath, and started with, “You know that Henry found me when I ran away from home.  I’m sure you wondered what we were doing the next four years we traveled together.”

“Wondered, and worried,” Peter confirmed.  “You didn’t include anything from that time in your confession, and that means you don’t have immunity for it.”

“It was small-time stuff compared to what I did later.  We started with a few cons, getting free meals or even a hotel room out of it.  We picked some pockets, but usually convinced the owner of the wallet he or she had dropped it; if we did it right, we’d get a cash reward for returning the wallet.  We got by, but we weren’t exactly rolling in money.  The first several weeks we were more likely to sleep in Henry’s car than in a hotel.  But Henry had a plan.”

“Of course he did,” said Peter, trying not to show how stressed he felt about Henry’s plan.  Henry was smart but rash at 27.  He was probably more reckless when he was 20.

“When he dropped out of college the first week of his senior year, he got a refund of his tuition.  That was his emergency fund.  He did want to finish his degree eventually, so we almost never touched that money.  We traveled somewhat randomly around the country, or so it seemed to me.  We hit several music festivals, and between those we visited music stores where Henry tried out the guitars and confirmed that I was decent on guitar and better on piano or keyboards.  Sometimes he gave me and others in the stores lessons on playing the guitar like a pro.  Finally he found a place that had the guitar he wanted at a price he was willing to pay.  It helped that he impressed the store owner with his skill and really laid on the charm; he got a good discount.  Shortly after he bought the guitar, he let me in on the plan.”

“Busking?” Peter asked, thinking back to Neal’s recent arrest.

“Sometimes.  That was a fall back if things got tight.  Usually it was me as the busker, because people had more pity on a kid.  At 18 I preferred to be perceived as grown up, but I understood that coming across as younger than my age was sometimes an advantage.  We usually had something else going on, like performing in a club.  We made a lot of contacts, and that brought more opportunities.  We’d fill in if a group had a musician or backup singer who couldn’t perform.  Song writers asked us to test out their songs in clubs, and we had a sideline going recording demos.  We were skilled at picking up different styles, so if a song writer wanted to pitch a song to a specific group, we’d emulate that group’s sound for the demo.  There were times the group would pick up the song because they liked the demo and then would ask if we were available to perform back up on the official recording.  For a while we were in the background of multiple pop and rock songs on the radio.  Even country.  Henry’s not a big fan of country music, but he has a great voice for it, and his guitar style worked well for crossover artists.”  Neal actually smiled at a set of memories Peter could barely fathom.

“This… is not what I expected,” Peter said.  “You…  A rocker, really?”

“Pop, angst rock, ballads, a little folk music.  Henry taught me the old Irish folk tunes that our grandfather had taught him, and a few songs from old musicals our grandmother starred in.  But yeah, rock and pop had the most demand so that what we specialized in.”

“But you’re…”  Peter gestured toward Neal.  “You’re this clean-cut, polite charmer.  How’d you convince anyone to hire you as a rock musician?  I just don’t see it.”

“I do,” said El.  “I can see Neal as a young Paul McCartney.”  She grinned at him.  “I’ll bet you drove the girls crazy.”

Neal shrugged.  “Henry more than me.  Mostly I was his sidekick.  He applied what he’d learned in his psychology classes to our performances, drawing a strong reaction from the audience.  He developed a charisma that he still uses to take charge of situations, but on stage it was really powerful.  He learned early on how to handle groupies, turning them away without turning them off, so we kept them as fans.  The more we made a name for ourselves, the more chances we had to perform as our own duo, like as a warm-up act.”

“This name you made for yourselves…”  Peter prompted.  This had to be where the secret aliases came in, because none of Neal’s known aliases were musicians.

Neal still wasn’t ready to give up those names, apparently, because he kept going with the story.  “We tried to keep it low key.  We were making enough money that we could pay our way and even save a little, replacing what we’d spent from the emergency fund.  Fame wasn’t in the cards for us.  The last thing we wanted was to get enough attention that Win-Win noticed us.  We had fun, we were comfortable, and we were safe.  Henry kept his promise to call home once a month, and he always timed it for when we were about to leave wherever we’d been staying so we’d be hard to track.  The people we were hanging out with respected our privacy.  A lot of the people we met who were also traveling from gig to gig had their own demons they were hiding from, so they understood when we didn’t want to talk about our backgrounds.  For a long time we were mostly on a first-name basis with other musicians, and we were paid in cash or trade.  If a club manager put us up in a hotel, maybe bought us a meal, we were satisfied.” 

At last Peter understood how Henry had eluded Win-Win for years, and how the Marshals had never found Neal.  “You’re sure Henry hasn’t just gone back to that life?” Peter asked.  “Sounds like a good way to escape from the pressures he’s been under, and to distract Angela from her grief right now.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that,” Neal insisted.  “A cardinal rule was that we never called attention to ourselves in a way that would cause people to link our real selves to our stage personas.  Until this year, only one person outside of the three of us knew us by both identities.  I’m telling you how we disappeared, and _why_ we disappeared, so you’ll understand that _isn’t_ what’s going on now.”

“Why didn’t you share your musician alias when we granted you immunity?”

“It’s more a pseudonym.  I don’t think of it as an alias, because it wasn’t for criminal purposes.”

“You weren’t breaking any laws?”  Peter still didn’t get why Neal had kept this all a secret if it wasn’t criminal.  He wasn’t eluding the Marshals anymore, and Henry had gone from hiding from Win-Win to working for them.

“Rarely after that first year.  At least, we weren’t knowingly breaking the law.”  Neal shrugged.  “When I was 18, I didn’t know you should pay taxes on cash or bartered income.  I probably wouldn’t have cared if I did know.  Taxes fed the system, and in my eyes the system had failed me.  It wasn’t about the money, Peter.  It was about disappearing.  We each had a reason we needed to hide, and those reasons still exist.  That’s why I don’t want to share those pseudonyms with the Bureau.  Can’t we run the names ourselves?  You’ll see Henry and Angela aren’t playing hooky under those names, and you can tell the Missing Persons agents the results without putting those pseudonyms in the files.”

Peter shook his head.  “The minute I run those names through the Bureau databases, they’re in the official logs and tied to the case.  Neal, I’m just not getting it.  Frankly, I’m relieved to hear that you and your cousins were spending your time on something so innocent.  Is this what you were really up to over Christmas, performing with your cousins?”

Neal nodded.  “That’s why I didn’t tell you.  Well, teasing you about what I might have been doing was fun, too, but mostly I didn’t want you to find out about that part of my life.  I didn’t want it in my file.”

“Why does it matter if this goes in your file?”

Neal ran his hands through his hair.  “I’m not explaining it right.”

El stood up and brought her laptop back from the living room.  She woke it up and turned it around for Neal to see.  “It wasn’t just Christmas.  You’re performing on a regular basis, aren’t you?  You’d stopped for a while, and there were even rumors you’d died when you disappeared from the music scene, but recently you’ve been making a comeback.  With an official site and this kind of press, did you really think you could keep it a secret?”

Neal looked at the screen and took a deep breath before looking up at El again.  “How long have you known?”

“I just figured it out this morning.”

Peter leaned over to view the screen.  “I remember this site.  You were looking at it a few weeks ago over breakfast while I talked to Joe.  Urban Legend.”  He scrolled down the page and saw a picture of Neal with a guitar, captioned as being from a performance in Miami.  “No wonder you were exhausted.  You told me you were gambling to pay for college.  Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?  I’d have been a lot less worried.”

“There isn’t much money in it.  Not unless you have professional representation and a recording contract.”

“Then why do it?  I thought art was your passion.  Is music what you really want to pursue?  Is that why you haven’t told anyone about getting into Columbia?”

“No.  Music’s just a hobby, really.”  Neal stood up.  “Remember when I told you I was working another case?  It wasn’t about where I was born; that was a misdirect.  _This_ is the case.  We met a lot of aspiring singers and musicians over the years, Peter, and we heard a lot of stories about how they were taken advantage of.  There’s a record company that’s cheating people.  More than that, they’re dashing dreams and ruining lives.”

“Masterson Music.”  It was coming together.  The searches in Neal’s browser history.  The case file Henry had hidden at Win-Win.  The corporate evil Mozzie was looking into.  “Why didn’t you just tell me about it?  We could have made it an official case.”

“I wanted to solve it on my own, to show everyone that I can do the job without you holding my hand.  And by doing it off the books, I had a shot of keeping our pseudonyms a secret.”

Rather than ask yet again why the pseudonyms needed to be a secret, Peter leaned back in his chair and looked at Neal. 

“I’m with Peter on this one,” El said.  “Why the secrecy?”

Neal leaned against the bookcase.  “For Henry and me, it was a game.  We did it for fun, to earn enough money to get by, and then later to keep in touch with contacts who could tell us what Masterson was up to.  It’s different for Angela.  Music isn’t my passion, but it is hers.  She loves it, and has the talent to go pro.  But you remember what my grandfather said at my birthday party, about how he left the life of itinerant Irish musicians to become an ambassador?  He can’t accept one of his grandchildren going back into that life.  As long as no one knows Angela is Grace Legend, she can get away to be a musician without distressing him.  That means she’s careful, Peter.  She would never schedule a performance and a family obligation at the same time, and then skip out on the family.  That would cause the family to look into where she’s gone, and then she would lose her release valve.”

“You really don’t think Edmund could be brought around to accept her choice?” El asked.  “Even if Irene and Noelle worked on him, too?”

“Maybe.  But if anyone finds out she’s Grace Legend, then Henry and I are exposed as Legends, too.  For me, it’s about having an escape route.  None of my aliases were as secure and established as the Neal Legend identity.  People in my old life knew me for my ability with art or forgery or theft, but I didn’t share anything about being a musician.  Some knew I could play, but not that I could perform like that.  If I needed to, I could disappear into the Legend identity at the drop of a hat, and have time to create a new alias before anyone could find me.”

“Because you have a flight instinct,” Peter said.  It was finally making sense.  In fact, he was having to restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing Neal to keep him from making a run for it now.  The kid’s nerves were showing and he was probably using his con artist skills to protect himself from looking as vulnerable as he felt.  “Knowing you still had one hidden identity in your pocket helped you through the stress of joining the FBI.  As long as you believed you could still escape, you didn’t panic about all the changes in your life.”

“Something like that,” Neal said with a tired grin. 

“You know you’re safe now, Neal.  You don’t have to run from me.  I’m on your side.”

“So can we run the Legend names through the database and prove Henry and Angela aren’t hanging out at some hotel or resort?”

“Not so fast.  You didn’t tell me why Henry needed an alias to disappear into.”

“Does it matter?  You get the gist, right?”

Peter frowned.  “I think it does matter.  For weeks you’ve been dancing around secrets whenever we’ve talked about the Robert Winslow case, and now you seem to think he’s behind your cousins’ disappearance.  If you want me to believe that, I need the full picture.”

Neal stepped forward, bracing his hands on the back of a dining room chair.  He looked down, his hair falling into his face.  “Peter…”  He met Peter’s eyes.  “Dad, please, if I tell you this, you have to keep it out of the FBI files.” 

Neal had called Peter _Dad_ before, but not like this, not in this desperate, hopeful, pleading tone.  It grabbed hold of Peter’s heart and twisted, and he finally understood Neal’s compulsion to obey when called _Son_.  Right now he wanted to do anything to keep Neal safe and free from the worry that obviously burdened him.  Under the table, El grabbed his hand and squeezed.  And instead of saying what should have been his automatic response as an agent: _We’ll see_ , or _As long as he didn’t break any federal laws_ , Peter answered with the assurance of a dad, “I promise.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

After all this time, Neal had disclosed things to Peter he’d thought he’d never share.  He’d given up his last alias and his heart pounded with the panic he felt at losing his best and easiest escape.  The trust he’d just shown Peter was more than he’d have ever imagined when he’d gone to work for him back in December.

But that still hadn’t been enough.  Now he was going to spill some of Henry’s most closely guarded secrets.  “He’s going to hate me,” he said despairingly.

“No,” said Elizabeth.  “Not Henry.  He loves you.  Speaking from experience with my sister, I can tell you that even if he’s angry at first, in the end he’ll understand and forgive you.”

Peter stood and rested a hand on Neal’s back.  “It’ll be OK, Neal.  Just tell us.  Get it over with and stop torturing yourself.”

Neal nodded, and stood up straight.  “Henry was 16 when his parents got divorced.  He and his mom moved out of his dad’s house, which was near Win-Win, to live in a townhouse close the University of Maryland, where Noelle was teaching.  As he got settled into his new neighborhood, he noticed one particular guy kept showing up.  It was a stranger, about four years older than him, and Henry became convinced this guy was following him.  He told Noelle about it, and of course Win-Win was the first option that came to mind for looking into it, so she called Graham.  Graham believed Henry’s father would be the most motivated to make sure Henry was safe, and he assigned the case to Robert.”

“What did he find?” Elizabeth asked.

“He said he didn’t notice anyone who matched the description of this guy, and found no evidence that Henry was being followed.  He claimed it was something Henry made up to get attention.”

“He was crying wolf,” Peter said.

“Exactly.  After Robert made his report he asked to speak alone with Henry.  That’s when he said that if Henry seriously believed he was being followed, it was a sign he was unstable, and that Noelle probably couldn’t keep custody of a kid who was mentally and emotionally disturbed.  Henry didn’t know much about custody laws, and he believed it.  If he kept claiming he was being followed, not only would Noelle and Graham think he was a lying, spoiled brat, but he also might be taken away from his mom.”

“Oh, that’s despicable!” Elizabeth’s eyes were shining.  “To do that to his own son.  How could he?”

There was no good answer to that.  “For the next couple of months, Henry didn’t see anyone following him.  He almost started to believe he’d been imagining it.  He’d been anxious much of that year, taking summer school to keep his mind off his parents’ arguments leading up to the divorce, and then taking extra classes in the fall.  He was on track to graduate a year early, and before spring break of his last semester he’d been accepted into Columbia.  Shortly after he told his Winslow relatives about that, he noticed the same guy following him again.  His best guess was that Robert was being a control freak.  Robert hadn’t liked his son being out of his sight after the divorce, and the idea of him going away to college early was even less acceptable.”

“What did Henry do?” Peter asked.

“He didn’t think he could tell anyone this time, not without evidence.  He joined a photography club, giving him an excuse to carry a camera around, hoping to get pictures of the guy following him.  But this guy was elusive.  It was like he had been trained by Robert.”

“Or by Win-Win.”

Neal nodded at Peter.  “At the time, Henry didn’t think Robert would risk using a Win-Win employee for this and the guy following him was college-age, too young to be a full-time employee.  Henry didn’t know the company hired college interns.  But Ford wasn’t the only one trained by Robert, and Henry came up with a plan for dealing with him.”

“Hold on.  Jason Ford was the one following Henry?”

“Yeah,” said Neal.  “He’s been loyal to Robert for a long time.  It isn’t going to be easy to convince him that Robert’s the bad guy in all this.”

“How long did this last, Ford following Henry?”

“Off and on ever since Henry was 16.”

“Then you’d seen him before,” Peter said.  “That’s how you were able to provide a drawing to Travis before he went undercover.”

“Right.  Looking back, I realize that Ford has never done anything to Henry, other than report back to Robert and generally freak us out.  At first I was terrified of him, because Ford was the only thing Henry ever admitted being afraid of.  But over time I realized that it wasn’t really Ford who scared Henry.  Robert was the monster in all this.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened.  “What did Robert do?”

“Robert expected his son to follow in his footsteps.  He started a training program early, long before the divorce, to make Henry into the best investigator possible.  He taught Henry how to think like and outsmart criminals, including lock picking and pickpocketing and surveillance.  He made sure Henry knew how to tail someone, and how to lose a tail.  When Henry failed or didn’t measure up, Robert was harsh.  He didn’t make any allowances for Henry being young or new to investigative work.  In Robert’s mind, Henry had been bred for this, and nothing else was as important.  That’s what fed Henry’s fear.  He thought this might be a test by Robert.  If he failed, if he let this other guy catch him, he didn’t know what Robert would do.  Maybe Robert had instructed Ford to beat Henry up, to seriously hurt him or even kill him.  After all, if Henry washed out at these skills Robert prized, then Robert had no use for him.  Or maybe he’d hurt someone Henry loved as a means to teach him that he needed to step up his skills to become worthy to be Robert’s successor.  As a result, Henry was terrified of being caught by Ford and was determined never to go to work at Win-Win.”

“I’m surprised he did,” Elizabeth said.  “I know he was blackmailed into it, but I never imagined how traumatic it must have been.” 

“That’s why you said you’d rather go to prison than be the reason Henry ended up working for his father,” Peter added.  “Graham probably helped him settle in, or it’s hard to imagine how he could have handled it.”    

“You’re probably right,” Neal said, grateful that Henry had Graham’s support to offset what Robert would have put him through.  “Anyway, Henry didn’t get any conclusive photos to show he was being followed in high school, and his mom was worried his obsession with the camera meant this was more than the hobby he’d claimed it was.  So he gave up photography and took a different approach.  He turned down Columbia and accepted an offer from the furthest school he’d applied to: the University of Texas in Austin.  He even went there early, taking a couple of summer classes while he settled in.  He thought he was finally beyond the reach of his stalker.  But right after he got out of the hospital when he was 20 –”

“Wait,” Elizabeth interrupted, asking why Henry had been in the hospital.

Neal explained how Henry had saved Shannon Hunter’s life.  As he told the story he watched Peter, hoping to impress on him that Henry might be impetuous, but he was good and worthy of the FBI’s help.  Back in the spring Noelle had wondered if, as Neal’s father figure, Peter was also somewhat like a father to Henry in his role as Neal’s big brother.  He hoped that was the case.  Henry needed every advantage he could get now.

“That poor boy,” said El as Neal explained his cousin’s panic when a former roommate described a man who’d stopped by looking for Henry.  The stalker had followed him to Texas.

Peter stood up, and Neal took that as a good sign.  Peter would start out sitting as he let a case come together in his mind in a meeting or while solving a crossword puzzle, but he tended to stand and walk around as he worked out a plan for action.  Peter was putting the pieces together now, saying, “That’s when he started going by Shawn Hunter.  He was hiding from his stalker, and from Robert.”

“And from Noelle and Graham, because he knew that Robert would get Henry’s location from them if they knew.  They still believed Robert was genuinely concerned for his son.  It took a long time for them to realize Robert was actually obsessed with controlling Henry.”  Neal took a deep breath, and then divulged the rest.  “When Henry heard about the stalker appearing in Austin, the only reason he didn’t run is that Lawson’s sister Miranda offered room and board and physical therapy if he’d stay and work for her.  She had a small recording studio, and she gave Henry singing lessons to strengthen his lungs after the drowning and a bout of pneumonia.  At first he did office work, but she learned he was gifted on the guitar and used him in some recording sessions.  From his time with her and exposure to professional musicians, he learned a lot about performing, and a couple of times a musician had asked Miranda if her nephew Shawn would fill in at a local gig if they were short a guitarist or backup singer.”

“He took you there when he found you,” Peter guessed.  “Miranda helped you recover and she learned you were a lot like Henry.  You could sing and play a guitar, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re jumping ahead.  When Henry told Miranda he had to leave, she did him one more favor.  She put the word out that a kid named Shawn Legend was a fantastic, reliable musician and she’d vouch for him.  That helped him get work whenever he needed it, and it turned into an alias that he could disappear into.  Every once in a while if he had to use one of his credit cards or had any other reason to suspect his activities had been picked up in Win-Win’s systems, the stalker would show up.  Henry made a point of making sure I saw the guy, so I could identify and watch out for him, and then we’d slip away as the Legend brothers.  We were careful not to use those names or to perform when the stalker was around, so he never found out what aliases we were using.”

“That’s what Henry’s been doing these last few weeks, to fall off the radar and drive Robert nuts.  He’s been using the Shawn Legend alias.  Robert never found out how Henry eluded him all those years ago, did he?”

“That’s right,” Neal said.  “Henry was goading Robert into looking for him, and into taking risks to prove that Robert could keep up with his son.”

“You and Angela have been part of this?”

“It was a two-birds-with-one-stone kind of thing.  Henry hid from Robert, and Urban Legend gained enough momentum and notoriety to start getting Masterson Music’s attention.  The idea was to get an offer from them.  That would bring us inside to negotiate and sign a record deal, and we could use that opportunity to get proof of how they’re ripping off their artists.  We don’t care about being blacklisted, so we can go public with what Masterson is doing.  I guess we’d be whistleblowers.” 

“Except Angela might care, if she wants to be a professional musician,” Elizabeth pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s a relatively new development.  I’m still working out how we protect her from the backlash.”

Peter was pacing now.  “Are you certain this isn’t a faked disappearance, to get attention for Urban Legend?”

“I asked Mozzie the same question.”  Seeing Peter’s surprised expression Neal added, “I brought Mozz into the Masterson con a few weeks ago and he took the role of Urban Legend’s agent.  He’s been in charge of the website and generating buzz about the group online.  A disappearance sounds like something he’d come up with, but he promises that isn’t what’s happening.  He has no idea where they are.  Peter, please, I know how it looks to the FBI, but I swear, it has to be Robert.  He used Jason Ford as the stalker all this time, and now they’ve taken it a step further, actually kidnapping Henry by grabbing Angela first as the lure.”   

Peter nodded.  “I agree.  He’s escalating from a crying wolf scenario to a prodigal son.”

“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked, mirroring the question running through Neal’s mind.

“He started by planting the idea that Henry’s an unreliable witness.  The kid claimed to be in danger, but he could never prove it.  As a result, Henry’s less likely in the future to ask for help, because he thinks he won’t be believed.  He never reported the stalking again, did he?”

“No.  I talked to Lawson this morning and he’s going to file a restraining order against Ford on Henry’s behalf, even though I know Henry will hate being identified in the report as a victim.”

“Good move.  You think Ford doesn’t realize how damaging his role in this is, right?  He thinks he was helping a father keep an eye on a wayward son, and is part of some kind of intervention now.”

“I suspect that’s how he’s justifying his role in this, and I want to chip away at that delusion.”

“I’ll make sure Travis and Jones help with that.”  Peter stood next to Elizabeth’s chair.  “Here’s what I think is happening.  Henry succeeded in pushing Robert to the breaking point.  We thought Robert would hear about Heinemann and use it as an opportunity to follow Henry.  Instead he got ahead of us and waylaid Henry, and he’s out for revenge.”

Neal took a sharp breath, not wanting to think of what Robert might be doing to Henry.  Would he survive?

“Neal, I think this is psychological revenge.  He lured Angela and Henry away, making sure it looks like they disappeared willingly.  I think he plans to hold them long enough for the disappearance to make the news.  This afternoon we plan to splash their pictures in the media, asking if anyone has seen them.  I suspect that by tomorrow morning we’ll find them.  They might show some signs of being drugged, but otherwise they won’t be harmed, and won’t be able to tell us where they were.  They’ll claim they were kidnapped, but the evidence will point to them taking the drugs willingly.  It will look like they went partying, got high, and now they want to get out of trouble with their families by pretending they were abducted.  It discredits Henry with Win-Win, and he may eventually confess to something he didn’t do to get the press and FBI off his back.  Again he’s a victim, but no one believes him.  To the world he’ll be the prodigal son, crawling home after his misadventures to beg forgiveness, and welcomed by a generous family.”

“Outsiders will say his family was too easy on him,” Elizabeth added.

Thinking of his proud, brave cousin who had kept him safe and led him on adventures and been like a brother to him, Neal felt sick.  “It will destroy him.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” promised Peter.  “Now that we understand what Robert is doing, we finally have a shot at stopping him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neal’s comment that he’d rather go to prison than be the reason Henry went to work at Win-Win comes from an earlier story in this AU, titled By the Book.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for edits and for keeping my mind on pleasanter memories as we approach the anniversary of my mother’s death later this week. In her notes for this chapter, Silbrith pointed out that Neal is gaining power over Peter by calling him “Dad,” fulfilling a request Neal had made back in the story Caffrey Conversation. In that story, Neal complained that Peter had most of the power in their relationship, and now things are becoming more balanced. She also asked if Neal is aware of how much power he has over Peter in this chapter when he calls him “Dad.” My opinion is that he realizes it affected Peter, but doesn’t grasp the full extent.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. In next week’s chapter we’ll see where Henry and Angela are being held, with further revelations. One of the reasons Henry is so protective of Neal is the belief that because he brought Neal to Robert’s attention, now he needs to protect Neal from Robert’s ire. Henry won’t be happy to have the tables turned, relying on Neal to save him from what Robert has planned.


	30. Heroine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank reader MoonFaith for the reminder that in canon, kidnap victims take an active role in freeing themselves, and as a result much of this chapter is made up of scenes I added from that inspiration. It does mean that for this one chapter, Angela and Henry take the lead. But in next week’s chapter it will be Neal and Peter to the rescue.
> 
> My mother was a fan of strong female characters, so the chapter is titled Heroine in honor of Angela’s role here, and also to acknowledge Mom’s courage when she learned she had terminal cancer.

**Burke townhouse, Brooklyn. Tuesday morning. July 13, 2004.**

Once Neal finally disclosed his past as a member of Urban Legend, Peter jumped into action. He called the office, instructing Travis to run the names Shawn, Grace and Neal Legend for any recent hits in hotels, flights, rental cars, etc., to prove the missing cousins weren’t simply hiding out under their aliases. Travis would have Julia Winslow do the same thing with her data sources.

Then Peter talked to Tricia, telling her about the restraining order filed against Jason Ford, and the need to continue a campaign to make Ford realize he was involved in something much more serious than a simple intervention with a wayward son. In addition, Tricia would tell Jones and the Missing Persons agents to focus on locations Robert Winslow or his accomplice would have access to for hiding Henry and Angela. Splashing the cousins’ pictures in the news was placed on hold.

Elizabeth quietly put away the dishes and leftover food, leaving Neal in peace. When Peter finished his calls, he looked at Neal in concern. What the kid had shared this morning must have churned him up emotionally, when he was already scared about what had happened to his cousins. He sat slumped at the dining table, staring downward.

“Flight instinct still eating at you?”

“Big time,” Neal said, without looking up.

“Once we get your cousins back, are you interested in going after Masterson with the FBI resources behind you, as an official case?”

Finally Neal raised his head. “Can we?”

“First step is documenting what we know.” Peter handed Neal a pad of paper. “What are the indications that a crime has occurred? When did it happen, who are the victims, who are the suspects? Write down all the stuff you normally see in the files, and we’ll take it from there.”

Neal took the pad and started scrawling notes.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Angela stretched and rolled over. Almost 9am, according to the alarm clock beside the bed. She sat up and looked around the hotel room.

When Henry had first brought her into Urban Legend, she’d been excited about the chance to perform and show off her musical skills, but the traveling and hotel rooms wore on her. Maybe someone else her age would enjoy seeing the world, but she’d been there and done that. As the daughter of an Air Force officer, she’d lived in many different countries growing up. She’d been jealous of Henry, who’d spent his entire childhood in Baltimore. And then she’d learned that Neal had lived in one place from the time he was three until he was in his late teens. It sounded heavenly.

Her throat was extraordinarily dry and she reached toward the glass of water on the nightstand, but then hesitated. Something was off.

By now she should have remembered what city Henry and their mysterious “agent” had scheduled her to perform in, but it wasn’t coming back to her. She didn’t remember checking into the hotel, or going to bed. Really, the only recent memory – and it was hazy – was waking up, drinking from that glass of water, and then feeling dizzy and going back to sleep.

She slid out of bed and realized her balance was off. She walked slowly toward her carry-on bag, which was in the closet, unpacked. When she unzipped it, it looked as if someone had rifled through it. The bags she usually checked on flights was nowhere to be found. She pulled a toothbrush and toothpaste out of her carry-on and took them to the bathroom. Bathrooms told you a lot about hotels. This one was clean and luxurious, with plenty of space to move around and a generous pile of fluffy white towels.

For a moment she worried that if she ran the water, someone might realize she was awake, but shook off the paranoia. Her mouth felt scuzzy, so running water was imperative.

Somewhat refreshed, she opened the curtains in the room. The hotel was near the water. She could see sailboats, and in the distance across the water could see New York City. That answered the question of where she was, but not why or when. She glanced around the room for her cell phone, which would show her the date and details of her next scheduled performance, but couldn’t find it anywhere.

She’d been sleeping her in her clothes, which wasn’t normally her style, and she pulled out a fresh shirt from her luggage so she wouldn’t look too rumpled. With her hair combed and the remnants of her makeup removed – and wondering how tired had she been to forget that step last night – she was ready to wander out of her room and find answers.

There was a slight delay as she searched in vain for her room key. Grabbing her purse, she reasoned that with her ID and credit card, she could convince the hotel management to replace the key. She opened the door to her room and saw…

She chuckled. So, the room was a suite. She wasn’t in a hallway, but in a small living room. There was a sectional sofa and TV, and a desk. Still no sign of her cell phone or room key, however. She walked toward the door that really would lead to the hall and… Nothing. She checked to make sure the interior locks were open, and still the door refused to budge.

There was a phone on the desk. It indicated she was in room 310. Should she call the front desk and explain she was locked in? She picked up the handset, but there was no dial tone. This was getting creepier by the minute. Looking out the window in this room, there was a balcony, but at three floors up she didn’t see a safe means to climb down. She didn’t see any other guests down there, so yelling for help wasn’t going to achieve anything.

There was another door in the suite, presumably leading to another bedroom. It was locked, but she thought she heard someone moaning on the other side. “Henry?” she called out.

She couldn’t make out the response, but it sounded kind of like Henry’s voice. He’d taught her how to pick simple locks a few years ago after she’d locked her keys in her car, and this door wasn’t challenging. Soon she was inside a bedroom that was a mirror image of hers. And there was Henry, tied to a chair and completely out of it.

She shook him while issuing a stream of pleas and complaints, ending with, “C’mon, I’m officially freaking out now. You’re SHAWN, the Super Hero, remember?”

Henry groaned.

“Thirsty?” Angela saw a glass of water on the table.

“Nnnno,” Henry mumbled. “Won’t drink that again.”

“Yeah, I’m with you on that.” She took the glass to bathroom, where she rinsed it out and refilled it with tap water. “It’s safe,” she promised when she took it back to Henry. “I dumped what they had in here. This is fresh.”

After drinking the water, Henry seemed to focus on his surroundings and asked her to lock the door. Then Angela started to tug on the ropes securing him to the chair, although she wasn’t sure what she’d do about the cuffs that held his hands behind his back. “Stop,” Henry said. “Can’t let them know you’re awake.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Get out. Contact Neal.”

“Even if I could find a way out of here, I’m not leaving you. We’re on the third floor, we’re locked in, the phone lines are dead, and my cell phone is missing.”

Henry squinted and screwed up his face as if he had a bad headache. “Not good.”

“No, not good at all.”

“My phone, right front pants pocket. He took it, but I slipped it back ‘fore he tied me up.”

“Your right?” Angela asked. If she was going to go groping around in her cousin’s pants pocket while he was still in the pants, she only wanted to do this once.

“Yeah.”

The good news was that it took a minimum of groping to find the phone. The bad news was, “No signal. I don’t get it. We’re not in the middle of nowhere here. I can see New York City from the window.”

“Jamming the signal?” His words came slowly, worrying Angela. He wasn’t shaking off the effects of the drug as quickly as she had. “Open the curtain a minute. I wanna see.”

She obliged.

He blinked as the light streamed in, and finally focused. “I think… I think I’ve been here before,” Henry said. As she closed the curtain, he told her a name that wasn’t familiar to her, but he promised Neal would recognize it.

As they worked on a plan to get a message to Neal, they heard the door to the suite open. Angela dove into the closet before their captor unlocked the bedroom door to enter Henry’s room. The closet door had been about an inch ajar, right? She huddled in the back, staying as still as she could.

Henry acted as out of it as he’d been when she first entered his room. The newcomer offered him a drink from the glass on the table, probably expecting that he was dosing Henry with more of the drug that had knocked them out. Then he untied Henry and shuffled him into the restroom for a quick break.

Under cover of the noise of running water, Angela turned on Henry’s phone. He’d told her the code to unlock it. It might not be able to make calls, but it had other features that still worked. She turned on the voice memo recorder, and held the phone near the gap between the closet door and the floor.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

For about two seconds Henry entertained the idea of surprising Ford, overpowering him and escaping with Angela. But as soon as Ford hauled him to his feet, he realized that his body wasn’t shaking the effects of the drug as fast as his mind was. He couldn’t even stand on his own.

After more than a decade of eluding his stalker, he’d heard Ford’s voice for the first time yesterday. More than once Neal had suggested confronting this guy in an open, public space and asking why he was following them, or what it would take to make him stop. Henry had never wanted to take the risk, and now he needed to pretend to be as slow mentally as he was physically. Any meaningful conversation was off the table.

Ford retied Henry to the chair and brought the glass of water to his lips again.

“Nnnnooo,” Henry said, turning his face away.

Ford wasn’t going to let him avoid drinking. “Won’t take much. I made yours a higher dose. With your history with drugs, I figured you’d have a greater tolerance than you cousin.”

Even though he knew Angela had replaced the drugged water with fresh, Henry didn’t make it easy for Ford. He swallowed some, but spit quite a bit on Ford’s shirt. “Robert… tell you... that?” Henry asked, making a show of choking and coughing and struggling to get the words out.

“You shouldn’t call your father by his first name. It isn’t respectful.”

Henry simply panted, as if trying to catch his breath. Unfortunately he really had gotten a little winded walking to the bathroom and back. Escape was looking less and less likely.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He said you took cocaine right in front of him.”

Henry hated that Angela was hearing this. He supposed that being coy with Neal on the topic and pretending to be strung out when talking to Peter was coming back to bite him now. They’d probably mentioned something about it in their reports, and Ford and Robert had latched onto it. Of course Robert had left out some details when he told Ford about Henry’s “history” with drugs.

“Planning… to give me… overdose? Get me… outta the way… take my place?”

“Just teaching you a lesson, and protecting Win-Win from you. I’ve got a little something special for you in the bathroom. It’s a dose of heroin with your name on it. When Mr. Winslow says it’s time, I’ll give it to you, and then take you back to the airport. There will be plenty of witnesses to your drug habit, and instead of going back to work, you’ll finally go to rehab and get the treatment you need.” Ford shrugged. “But yeah, once you’re fired and Robert gets to tell his side of the story, he’ll be reinstated at Win-Win and I might decide to go back. He deserves someone who’ll…” He trailed off at a beeping sound and pulled a pager off his belt.

A pager. Henry had to admit Robert was still clever. Almost no one carried pagers anymore. Win-Win didn’t track them, and the FBI probably didn’t either unless they knew a suspect had one. This was how Ford and Robert stayed in touch while blocking cell phones here. Robert paged Ford, and Ford would call back on a landline. At least that told him that not all the landlines were dead here. If Angela could get out of this suite, she had a chance of calling for help. “Don’ I… get a call? Prisonersss supposssed to get one,” he slurred.

“Not this time,” Ford said as he put the pager back on his belt. “Don’t bother trying. The phone lines in the suite are dead, and I have a good friend who works at the phone company. He’s monitoring all calls to and from your family and several FBI agents. Mr. Winslow knows which local agents you’ve been consorting with, and I know which agents traveled here from Washington. I’ve got access to data from several credit card companies, including the one the FBI uses for making travel arrangements. It’s the same credit card company you used for booking your flight here. You almost made it too easy.”

Henry huffed out a breath before saying, “Twelve yearsss. Caught me once. Robert not usssually sssso tolerant.”

“He’s been more tolerant with you than you deserved.” Ford turned around and walked out.

Angela waited until the door to the suite closed before she appeared from her hiding place. She held up his phone. “Good job getting him to talk, I recorded everything he said. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. I’m not as drowsy as I pretended to be, but I can’t walk yet.”

“I’m gonna get rid of that heroin,” Angela said, starting toward the bathroom.

“No!” Henry insisted.

“We can’t let him give it to you.”

“If something like that disappears, he’s gonna know you’re free. Get out now. Find a phone and call someone.”

“Who? If I call Neal or any other family or the FBI, this guy’s friend will let him know. If that happens, he’ll probably step up the plan and come up here to give you the heroin immediately.”

“He might have been bluffing, to chip away at my hope so I won’t try to escape.”

Angela didn’t look convinced. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He sighed. “Look at my phone. Remember what tomorrow is?”

She checked the date on the phone’s display, and she took a sharp breath. In the confusion of realizing they’d been abducted she’d forgotten that they were nearly at the first anniversary of her father’s death.

“I can’t be the hero,” Henry said. “It’s up to you this time. Make your dad proud.”

She nodded, looking too choked up to talk, and then hugged him. “I’ll get you out of here,” she promised, and then she left.

When she was gone, Henry lost track of time. There was still enough of the drug left in his system to make his mind drift when he was bored. He wasn’t exactly dreaming. It was more like swimming in memories.

Summer. He was a couple of weeks away from turning 16. He’d gone to Las Vegas with his dad and it had actually been fun. Maybe he’d finally done it. Maybe he’d gotten his dad’s approval. He’d been good at poker. He’d been good at Win-Win. He went to the office with his dad one day a week all summer and worked on various cases. When he had time he kept tabs on Danny Brooks, which he’d learned was his cousin Neal’s name in WITSEC. After he’d found the hospital and police reports, he wanted to make sure Neal didn’t get hurt like that again.

He also took a couple of classes in summer school. French. Yuck. He sucked at foreign languages, but at least in the smaller classes of summer school he got more attention and help from the teacher. You had to have two years of a foreign language to graduate. The other class was journalism. He liked interviewing people for the summer edition of the school paper. His dad wanted him to become a cop and then work at Win-Win, but recently the company had hired some journalism majors and Pops had said that investigative journalism was a good background for Win-Win investigators, so maybe that would be an option. His dad usually agreed with anything Pops liked, and Henry really didn’t want to be a cop. The only other option his dad had mentioned as tolerable was the army, but that didn’t sound like something he wanted to do either.

Swimming back in his memory to one specific summer day, he remembered interviewing the new drama teacher. She seemed pretty cool. She said in the fall they’d have open auditions for a play based on the story _Cheaper by the Dozen_. It was a comedy, and he remembered Dressa reading portions of the book to him ages ago when he’d been seven and had tonsillitis. The kids and dad in the book had tonsillitis, too, and he’d enjoyed hearing about their antics while he ate ice cream and listened to Dressa make up different voices for all the characters.

At home after interviewing the drama teacher, he mentioned he might try out for the play. It sounded like fun.

“What about your baseball practice?” Robert had asked.

Henry shrugged. He was an OK baseball player, but the practices and travel to games took a lot of time and he didn’t particularly enjoy it. “They don’t do as much in the fall. And I was thinking, you know, I might try out for something different in the spring. Maybe swimming.” He’d like to be a stronger swimmer, because he enjoyed boating. But as soon as he said it, he regretted it. Robert hated reminders of the fact that he got seasick. He hated any weakness, especially in himself. “But acting, you know,” Henry continued quickly, “it would be good practice for Win-Win, right?”

“What the hell do a bunch of pansy actors have in common with anyone at Win-Win? You just memorize a bunch of lines and say them over and over again. An investigator has to think on his feet.”

“But acting… It’s like going undercover, right?” Most people would describe Henry as having the gregarious nature and spontaneous speaking ability of his Caffrey grandparents, the ambassador and the actress. Unfortunately around his dad he got nervous and stumbled over his words, and even though he intuitively _knew_ that being a good actor would make him a good investigator, he couldn’t explain it under his dad’s piercing stare.

He changed the subject to keep his dad calm, and when he was alone later that night he wondered when the divorce would be final, and if it would make a difference in his ability to talk to his dad if he was around him less. Would time apart make him less intimidated and tongue-tied? He knew his mom had officially filed for the divorce a week ago, and she was talking about moving out when she could find a place she liked. She said Henry could trade off between staying with her and with his dad, and they’d come up with a schedule that worked for all of them. His dad didn’t talk much about the divorce. He called it a mistake and said Mom would come to her senses when the rubber hit the road.

In the fall Henry kept working for the school paper, dropped baseball, and tried out for the play. He got a part. Not a lead role, but he was still proud.

Robert was less thrilled. He insisted that if Henry had time for a play, then he had time to work for Win-Win two afternoons a week, instead of just one. Now that Henry was 16, it was time for him to stop playing around and to take on a serious case. The school paper and local media were reporting that drug use was up among students, and Robert assigned Henry to find out who was dealing drugs at the high school. To prove that he found the dealers, Henry was supposed to make a purchase and bring the evidence to Win-Win. His dad even provided the money to buy the drugs.

Thanks to his acting skills – although he left that out of his report to his dad – within a week Henry found the kids who were selling drugs and bought cocaine from them. He handed the proof to his dad at Win-Win later the same afternoon. And then was shocked when Robert Winslow told him to use the coke. “It’s no different than when you learned to pick pockets or hotwire a car. You need to understand what criminals do, and how they do it. How are you going to know how to deal with a junkie unless you understand what’s happening in his head? Be a man and take it.”

Henry knew his dad wasn’t like most parents, but it took a while to wrap his head around this one. No one would believe this. But he did as he was told.

That night his mom noticed Henry was high as soon as he and his dad got home. He’d probably taken too much. He hadn’t known how much people normally took. Or maybe it had been laced with something noxious. She took him to the hospital, and when they got home she had a huge fight with Robert.

That’s when he started thinking of his dad as _Robert_ , rather than as _Dad_. Because dads weren’t supposed to do what Robert had done.

His parents usually had quiet arguments, or at least waited until he was away before they started yelling. Not this time. His mom was actually screaming.

What Robert yelled back was mostly the truth. Thinking back, Henry realized that Robert got away with most of his lies because he would give you a story that was 90% true – enough that most people would be convinced – but you had to watch out for the other 10%.

That night Robert had admitted he’d sent Henry into an undercover drug deal to make a purchase. He said Henry had bowed to peer pressure after the purchase and that’s why he took the drugs.

Noelle was angry not only that Robert would take such a risk with a 16-year-old boy, but also that he didn’t seek medical attention for their son when it was obvious he was high and having a bad reaction. Robert claimed that Henry deserved to experience the crash as a punishment and incentive never to do drugs again.

In the morning Robert went to work, but not before stopping by Henry’s room to explain that his order to take the drugs had been a test, one which Henry had failed. He said Henry was weak and deserved what happened to him. Ashamed of his weakness and failure, Henry went along with Robert’s version of the story and never told anyone that the peer pressure he’d bowed to had come from his own father.

Henry stayed home sick that day, and his mom packed as many suitcases and boxes as would fit in her car. She took Henry and they checked into a hotel. She’d already picked out a townhouse she was going to move into, and she pushed up the closing date. A week later they were living at the townhouse and there wasn’t any of the swapping between households that she’d originally mentioned over the summer. Armed with the doctor’s report from the hospital where she’d taken Henry, she got full custody temporarily until the divorce proceedings were complete, and then she got permanent custody.

She also put an immediate halt to Henry’s part-time work at Win-Win. Pops had fought that. He’d brought Noelle and Henry to his office and reminded them that Winston-Winslow was a family business. Kids were often roaming the halls, and given “assignments” that ranged from filing to trailing after various relatives to learn about the work the company did. Graham hadn’t realized that Robert had taken things further. “It’s flattering, actually, the faith your father had in you,” Graham said. “He’s described some of the work he gave you, mostly research from the sounds of it, and I was impressed at the results you achieved. I can understand on some level his desire to give you more experience when you showed such promise. It was wrong, of course. We can’t have minors going undercover, and I’ve made that clear to all of our employees. It’s an official policy now that we don’t take risks like that with children. I promise your father’s overeagerness will be held in check when you return. I’ll see to it.”

Henry’s mom had looked like she wanted to shut down any idea of Henry returning to Win-Win, but instead she said he should take a two-week break and then they would decide. At the end of two weeks, Henry cited his heavy class load as his reason for not wanting to go back to Win-Win. He had no wish to work for Robert again, no matter what assurances Pops gave. Besides that, everyone at the company knew Henry was the reason for the new rules about what minors were allowed to do, and they knew why. He was too embarrassed to face them.

And that was his infamous history with drugs.

Looking around the room, he tried to get a sense for how much time had passed while he’d been drifting through memories.

Maybe he should have let Angela get rid of the heroin. What had seemed logical and sensible when he’d been talking to her was worrying him now. He didn’t want to be injected with something so addictive. He dreaded the thought of the recovery. And what would Neal think? Aunt Meredith had left him with such a serious hang up about addictions, maybe Neal couldn’t help blaming Henry. Maybe he’d think that telling Angela not to get rid of it was an indication that Henry wanted it.

But he didn’t want it. He wanted out of here. He wanted to find a way out of this mess without endangering Angela or anyone else.

And maybe a heroin addiction was the upside. For all Henry knew, Robert had provided a massive dose, enough to kill him. Maybe the plan was to make it look like an accidental overdose. Or even suicide. Henry gritted his teeth at what his mom and grandparents would go through if they believed he’d killed himself.

He was angry at Robert and Ford for everything they’d done to him. Angry at them for making him helpless. Angry at them for involving Angela. But most of all… He was scared. He hadn’t been this scared in years.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Angela wanted to push a chair and table in front of the door to the suite, to slow down their captor the next time he visited, but that would go counter to Henry’s insistence that they not let the guy know she was awake and aware of their situation.

She stepped out on to the balcony and looked around. The balcony doors had a lock, but it would be easy to pick if she could make it to another balcony. She didn’t have to worry about the other rooms being occupied. Henry had described this place as a combination club and resort that was temporarily closed while it changed ownership. Win-Win had provided security for the previous management. That’s how Robert knew it was empty.

The challenge was how to get to another balcony. Going horizontally wouldn’t work. The balconies were yards apart. Going down would be a challenge. Each floor must have high ceilings. She didn’t think a single sheet would be long enough to get her down to the next balcony, and she didn’t have confidence in tying a knot strong enough to bear her weight if she tried using two sheets.

She also suspected that getting to another room still wouldn’t yield a working phone. If this place had been closed for any length of time, then it wasn’t only the phones in this suite that were disconnected. Probably all lines but one or two in the office were off, to save on paying the monthly fees for dozens of unused room phones. She’d need to find her way down to the offices, avoiding Ford and Robert.

She looked beyond the resort’s property line. Henry had mentioned a bed & breakfast next door, but he’d also mentioned seeing a lot of security cameras monitoring the entrances and exits of this building. That would be how their captors monitored such a large space without involving others in their crime. Sneaking out of the building unseen would be tough. Henry had taught her a few tricks, but nothing like what he’d taught Neal.

When she’d first joined Henry in Urban Legend, she’d enjoyed the adventure and hearing stories about Neal, but had also grown a little jealous of this cousin she didn’t remember. He seemed to have all sorts of skills she didn’t have. Eventually she’d realized that Henry told some of these stories to drive her to practice more and improve her musical skills, to measure up and even surpass the cousin she had replaced. She’d decided to be her own person and use her own strengths, rather than competing with this mysterious Neal.

OK. So Neal would find a way to scale the building or break out of the room. Those weren’t her skills. She did have a decent knowledge of electronics, dealing with the equipment for performances more than Henry did, and also exploring computer-generated music in college. She thought about the fact that Henry’s cell phone couldn’t get a signal. It was probably jammed. She’d met managers of some concert venues who’d set up illegal jammers to block calls when they wanted to record a performance without the interruption of cell phones ringing. A device about the size of a cell phone would block the signal in this suite; Robert had no reason to invest in something bigger. For the best results it should be located somewhere in the middle of the suite, rather than in one of the bedrooms.

Angela searched for a jammer and found it attached to the back of the armoire that held the TV. With a little effort she managed to reach the off switch. She waited a minute and then checked Henry’s phone. Now it was getting a signal.

But who to call? According to Ford, any call to her mom or to Graham Winslow would trigger an alert and send Ford up here to investigate. He’d probably go ahead and drug Henry.

She opened the door to Henry’s room, planning to ask his advice of who would be safe to call. He was asleep, and she wasn’t able to get anything coherent out of him. Maybe rinsing out the glass hadn’t removed all of the sedative. It might have clung to the sides. She regretted not washing the glass more thoroughly, but at least he’d gotten a much smaller dose.

Not wanting to wait, she scrolled through the entries Henry had in his address list, hoping for something that sounded familiar but that Robert and Ford wouldn’t think to track. Maybe a 911 call was her best bet?

She almost dialed the emergency number, and had a second thought. If Ford realized that he’d somehow lost Henry’s phone, would he also track calls from it? Would the cops get here before Ford realized the call had been placed?

In the end she decided to take the risk. She dialed 911 and got an automated message that all calls from this line were blocked due to reported theft and/or abuse.

“Really?” she asked the universe in exasperation. But she remembered this about her uncle. He went for overkill. He’d have searched them and their luggage for phones, and jammed signals in case he missed anything, and reported Henry’s phone stolen.

Henry sometimes worried because people compared him to Robert. They were both smart, both good at strategy. Pit them against each other at poker or chess and you never knew who would win. They could both be charming; she’d liked her uncle at first. But he lacked imagination. For instance, recently Henry had described Robert’s disdain of texting. He didn’t see the point of something that was so limiting in terms of the keyboard and length of message you could send; he thought any messages of significance were sent in email, and only kids texted. So maybe he hadn’t bothered to have texting blocked from Henry’s phone.

Would Ford’s friend in the phone company be watching for texts in addition to calls? She had to assume that someone in telecom would view texting as important, even if Robert didn’t. Scrolling through Henry’s address book again, the name Joe Burke stood out. A couple of weeks ago, Henry had told her about the guy Aunt Noelle was dating. Presumably Robert didn’t know about that development yet, since he’d been out of touch. And Joe was the brother of the FBI agent who had been at Neal’s birthday party.

Just in case someone was reviewing texts from Henry’s number, she went as cryptic as she could: _Absolution 2,5,3,9,10. @ J Jett 1993. Pls fwd to your brother._

She pressed Send, and got the response that the message had gone through. Then she checked on Henry again and returned to her room. Angela was going through her suitcase looking for anything that might help her get out of the suite when Henry’s phone vibrated with an indication of a message.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal looked up from documenting the Masterson case when Peter’s cell phone rang.

Peter glanced at the caller ID in surprise and answered, “Joe?” He listened to his brother, and took the pad of paper away from Neal to scrawl a series of words and numbers. Then Peter read them back. “Is that right?” He made a correction and read it back again. “OK. Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

“What happened?” Neal asked as soon as Peter ended the call. Joe had gone up to the Burke cabin last night to look for the cousins and had called Peter earlier to say he hadn’t found any sign of them.

“Joe just got a text from Henry’s phone. Does this mean anything to you?”

Neal read the message and borrowed Peter’s laptop to do a search. Then he wrote _: Apocalypse, Please. Stockholm Syndrome. Time is Running Out. Blackout. Butterflies and Hurricanes. At Flashback._

“A code?” Peter asked, as Neal wrote.

“Yeah, one Henry taught us. _Absolution_ is an album released this spring from a group called Muse, and the numbers correspond to song titles. The first one in the message is ‘Apocalypse, Please.’” Neal paused. “My mom and her siblings had obnoxious nicknames for each other when they were teens, and when my grandfather became an ambassador, they formalized the names to use in case of an emergency. _Apocalypse_ refers to my mom, or to me.”

“So it’s a message to you, and by using the code names they know you’ll recognize it’s from family.”

“Right. ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ applies to kidnap victims, confirming they were taken against their will. ‘Time is Running Out’, well that’s obvious. ‘Blackout’ I’d take to mean they were drugged. ‘Butterflies and Hurricanes’, that’s…” He frowned. “That’s the butterfly effect, that a butterfly flapping its wings in one continent could change the path of a hurricane in another continent.”

“That’s part of chaos theory,” El commented.

Neal was surprised. “That means this message isn’t from Henry. Uncle David’s code name was Chaos, so the message is from Angela, using Henry’s phone.”

“ _At Flashback_?” Peter asked, referring to the final part of the code.

“Yeah, that’s the title of Joan Jett’s 1993 album.”

“And Angela had all of that memorized?” El asked.

“Possibly,” Neal said. “She picked an album we both liked. But she and Henry probably both had MP3 players with them. She could have used one of those to look up the songs she wanted.”

Peter picked up the translated message to reread it. “Joe said they weren’t at the cabin, where we dealt with your flashbacks.”

“No, not in the mountains,” Neal said. “Long Island. That’s where Travis and Julia thought they were.”

“Enscombe?” Peter asked, referring to the Long Island estate where Neal had been given an overdose of the Flashback drug.

Neal nodded. “And Angela doesn’t know about that, so Henry must be with her to tell her, even if for some reason he couldn’t send the text himself.”

“Why text instead of call?” Peter wondered. “And why text Joe instead of you or me?”

“They have reason to think calls are being monitored?” Neal guessed.

“They’re messaging a number they think won’t be tracked. OK. This is good. I’ll check in with the team, and we’ll make plans for a rescue op at Enscombe. Wake up Diana, and use her phone to text back that we’re…”

As Peter spoke, Neal’s cell phone buzzed. “It’s Travis.” He answered and put it on speaker.

“I’ve just heard from Julia Winslow,” Travis said. “She got a hit on Henry’s phone on Long Island, in the Kings’ Point area. She said there’s a network block on the line. The network refuses any calls to or from that number, but it lets texts through.”

Neal left the phone with Peter, who was giving Travis instructions, and took the steps two at a time on his way to the guest room. “Diana,” he yelled before he even reached the second floor. “We’ve found them!”

He had to give her credit for moving fast. She was already opening the door when he reached for the knob. “Where are they?” she asked.

“We’ll fill you in on the way,” Neal said. “First, I need your phone.” He snatched it out of Diana’s hands as soon as she pulled the device from her purse.

“Well it isn’t going to do you much good unless I unlock it,” she said, taking it back and entering a code. “Now try it.”

Neal took it back and texted a message to Henry’s phone. Angela would understand it to be a song by Sam & Dave: “Hold On, I’m Coming.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last song is a reference to the song Neal plays in the pilot right after he escapes from prison, when he intends to find and rescue Kate. Early in this chapter, Angela reveals her jealousy of Henry & Neal – how easy it can be to form jealousies when we don’t know the full facts of someone else’s lives. They would both be jealous of her childhood and relationship with her father.
> 
> Disclaimers: I'm not an expert in drugs, in jamming cell phones, in FBI procedure, etc.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her beta services and tolerance of multiple versions of this chapter as it evolved. Her Evening with Genji is reaching a very exciting part, so I hope you’re reading it, too.
> 
> The next chapter of this story sends Neal, Peter and the team to the rescue of Henry and Angela, and I hope you’ll come back next week to read it.


	31. To the Rescue

**Enscombe Estate, Long Island. Tuesday afternoon. July 13, 2004.**

Peter and the Missing Persons agents from D.C. had parked just beyond the entrance to the Enscombe estate, outside the view of the security cameras Angela had warned about. Neal had used Diana’s phone to text with his cousin throughout the drive, learning she and Henry were in room 310, and that she had seen Ford but not Robert or anyone else. They weren’t bothering with codes anymore, but did keep the messages as cryptic as possible.

As they reached the bridge, Travis suggested everyone turn off their phones so that whoever was monitoring wouldn’t see them all converging on Long Island. They assumed Diana was an exception – not known to Ford or Robert – and Neal had continued texting.

Neal, Jones and Tricia remembered the layout of the estate from their undercover work here in the spring, and led the way around tall hedges to approach the main building unseen. They saw one black car parked in front of the building – the same vehicle that had followed Neal the night before. All indications were that Robert had flown to Chicago and left Jason Ford alone with the two victims, but the team wasn’t taking any chances. Everyone had a bulletproof vest, and Neal was the only one not carrying a firearm. Neal had asked for the same kind of watch he’d used previously on undercover work to record conversations. He believed that Robert and Ford would proclaim their innocence if they went to trial, and a recording of what they said when arrested could provide damning testimony against them.

Peter was pleased that Neal had the clarity to think beyond the moment and consider the need to gather evidence that would lead to a conviction. In fact, Peter asked Travis to issue the other members of the team earpieces that would not only allow communication, but also would record everything they said and heard in Enscombe. Peter also requisitioned a video recording device that he would carry to record the scene when they found the cousins.

Travis remained in one of the cars, coordinating communications among everyone. The two agents from Missing Persons were approaching the front door of the main building. Once everyone else was in place they would knock and announce themselves as FBI agents. Jones was watching the exits on the left side of the building, Tricia and Diana had the right side, and Peter and Neal were taking position behind the building.

They slid into a blind spot between two surveillance cameras, hugging the building, and Neal was doing his cat burglar magic to open a window. “Got it,” he said, and slipped inside. Peter followed, trusting that Neal had checked to make sure the room was empty. As Peter closed the window he saw Neal read one more text and frown.

“We’re in,” Peter whispered into his communication device.

“Silva disabled the car so Ford can’t drive away,” Travis responded. “Jones checked the garage and found no other vehicles.”

“Is everyone in position?”

“Checking on Tricia and Diana…” There was a pause as Travis communicated with them, and then he reported to Peter, “All in place.”

Peter was about to give the command for Silva and Young to make their presence known, but glanced around the room. Neal’s frown had worried him. It would be so easy to act emotionally and to do something reckless when family was involved that Peter had been tempted to order Neal to stay back at the cars with Travis while his cousins were extracted. So far Neal had been calm and collected. Maybe too calm? Had it been a con? Before things went any further, Peter was going to remind Neal to take this op by the book and not do anything stupid.

Neal was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn it!” Peter strode to the hallway and looked for any sign of his missing consultant. Neal had said he didn’t need a two-way communication device in addition to the watch, because he’d be with Peter. It also meant he conveniently couldn’t hear any commands to get back where he belonged.

Was it better to give Neal time to complete whatever insane plan he had in mind, or to get the op underway immediately before he got into trouble?

“Agent Burke?” Travis said. “Are you there?”

Peter heard the ding of an elevator, and the swish of doors. He was certain Neal would have taken the stairs to free his cousins. Someone else was on his way up.

“Now!” Peter told Travis. “Send them in now!”

Peter heard the Missing Persons agents knock on the door. He wanted to run after Neal, but realizing the need for backup he raced toward the front door to let them in. Young stayed at the door to make sure no one escaped, while Silva searched the main floor. Peter ran for the stairs, yelling to Travis to send Tricia inside as back up. “Tell her to get to the third floor as fast as she can!” he said as he rounded the corner and rushed upstairs.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal took a back staircase up to the third floor with all the speed and silence he’d perfected as a thief. He’d chosen which window to open based on its proximity to these stairs, which opened near room 310. As much as he’d been impatient to leave the Federal Building and get here, he was glad for the glance he’d gotten of the building layout – he’d never gone beyond the first floor on his prior visit – and also for the equipment he’d been able to pick up. He’d volunteered to help Travis gather the communications devices, and had used the opportunity to add what Travis called a “universal key card” to the box they carried back to the conference room. It wasn’t a key card, but a device approximately the size of a car’s keyless remote, and it would emit a signal that would unlock most hotel doors. Much more civilized than knocking down doors, Travis had commented, and probably able to overcome whatever Ford had done to lock Angela and Henry in.

The last text from Angela said she had untied Henry but he was “still really out of it.”

Even though they’d turned off their phones and not taken the risk of calling the family to let them know the cousins had been found, Neal worried that Ford’s resources might tip him off somehow. With all the pressure they’d been putting on the guy to scare him into realizing he could be found and arrested for his role, would he panic and rush into the end game even though the cousins’ disappearance hadn’t made the news yet? With Robert gone, Ford couldn’t watch two kidnap victims 24x7, not alone. Neal worried about what Ford’s exit strategy might be. The fact that Henry wasn’t lucid enough to deal with the situation made Neal worry even more. He had to make sure they were safe.

The universal key card worked as advertised, and Neal was inside the room in a moment. “It’s me,” Neal said, and a bedroom door opened. Angela’s eyes were wide with fear but she seemed to calm a bit on seeing Neal. Behind her, Henry was slumped in a chair. “Let’s get you out of here,” Neal said. He pulled Henry up, and Angela stood on Henry’s opposite side to help.

“No,” Henry said. “He’ll come back. Gotta save you.”

“Not this time,” Neal said as they made it out of the bedroom into the living room. “I’m Shawn today.”

Henry looked up at Neal. “You’re Shawn?”

“We’re taking turns being him in this con, remember? And Shawn’s a Super Hero. It’s OK to let him rescue us.”

“’m I Neal?”

“Nah. Right now you’re just Henry.”

“You’re Shawn,” Henry said. “This time.”

“Yeah,” Neal said as they crossed the suite to the other bedroom. “Next time you can save everyone. But this time you have to stay quiet.” He dumped Henry on the bed. “Promise?”

“’K,” Henry mumbled into the bed.

Neal ran back to the other bedroom, and pulled a shirt out of Henry’s luggage. When Henry performed as Shawn Legend he had a signature look, mostly earth-toned Henley shirts. The one he grabbed was an oatmeal color, close enough to the light brown Henry wore now, especially in the room with the curtains closed and lights off. Neal tore off his own dress shirt, not caring that buttons popped, and pulled on Henry’s shirt. “Drape the ropes around me,” he told Angela, who had followed him. He took Henry’s place in the chair. “Then go back into the other bedroom and move something heavy in front of the door.” As soon as the ropes were gathered loosely around him he said, “Go!” and she ran out, closing the door behind her.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Jason Ford was fighting off a headache from lack of sleep. Keeping up with everything here had been challenging enough when Robert Winslow was helping. Now that he was alone, he wondered if he could handle it all. How could he keep the cousins in place, watch the media for any announcement they were missing, keep pestering his friend at the phone company for updates, use his work resources to learn what the FBI and the Marshals were doing, and keep Mr. Winslow informed of any news?

If he was going to be honest, the headache and sleeplessness were caused by more than just his current juggling act. Lately he’d been plagued by doubts. Mr. Winslow’s explanations seemed clear and sensible when taken on their own, but it was becoming harder to ignore what he was reading in the emails he pulled from the FBI and Marshals’ servers. They kept describing Mr. Winslow’s actions as criminal, and indicated that they were getting closer to identifying Jason as his accomplice.

They had to wrap this up quickly, so Mr. Winslow could return to Win-Win and clear his name. Otherwise they might both be arrested. Jason simply didn’t understand why Mr. Winslow had to go to the West Coast now. Who cared about Heinemann? There’d be plenty of time to take the lead on recruiting the guy to Win-Win after Mr. Winslow was reinstated in his old job. But you didn’t question Mr. Winslow, not for long. There was no surer way to trigger his temper, and then you had to wait for him to cool down before you could reason with him again. It seemed like these days Mr. Winslow’s temper was shorter than usual, but who could blame him after being not only fired, but also falsely accused of attempted murder? After months of being on the run while trying to clear his name, who wouldn’t be impatient?

Jason’s friend had called to say there was a flurry of text messaging from the phone of one of the FBI agents who had travelled to New York from Washington. His friend couldn’t provide details yet. Darrin’s manager was getting annoyed at the time being spent running queries for Jason. Darrin was in danger of missing an important deadline and said he’d need to finish up some work before he could look up the content of the texts.

Jason couldn’t exactly argue that looking up the texts was time sensitive because he’d helped kidnap someone. Not that it was a kidnapping, not really.

Chances were the agent was simply texting a boyfriend or something, but Jason couldn’t be sure. The fact that she hadn’t sent this many texts yesterday worried him. The fact that there’d been nothing in the news about the missing cousins worried him, too. Mr. Winslow hadn’t expected it to take this long, and hadn’t provided enough of the sedative to keep the cousins out of it much longer.

Finally he decided to trust his instincts. Drawing this out was simply too risky. He took the elevator up to the top floor of the art deco mansion-turned-resort, and opened the door to room 310. He propped the door open with a throw pillow so it wouldn’t close and lock him in. In the bedroom on the right side of the suite, Henry was still tied up and appeared to be asleep, head bowed forward.

Jason continued into the bathroom to fill a syringe with heroin. He’d never done this before, but had studied and practiced with water. If drug-addled addicts could do it, how hard could it be?

Back in the bedroom he reached toward Henry to roll up a sleeve, when suddenly Robert’s son was looking right up at him, not asleep at all. “So, that’s the heroin? Did you score it, or is Robert friends with drug dealers these days?”

Not Mr. Winslow’s son, but the other one. “Where did Henry go?” Jason looked around, not seeing Henry anywhere.

“Gonna drug me?” Neal asked.

“Of course not!” Jason backed away with horror. “This is for Henry.”

“And why exactly did you abduct Henry and keep him tied up in this room?”

“It’s not an abduction. It’s an intervention. We were supposed to keep him here long enough to get the drugs out of his system and make him agree to go to rehab. When that didn’t work, Mr. Winslow said we had to expose Henry’s habit to the public, so his family will stop enabling him and force him to get help.” After checking that Henry wasn’t hiding in the shower, Jason left the syringe on the counter and closed the bathroom door. He turned on the light to look at Neal. It hadn’t been Neal all along, had it? No. Mr. Winslow wouldn’t mistake this guy for his son, and Jason didn’t make mistakes like that either.

“You stalked us for years,” Neal called out as Jason looked around the living room part of the suite for any sign of Henry. “You never saw either of us doing drugs.”

Jason had mentioned that same fact to Mr. Winslow. He’d never witnessed Henry taking drugs or give any sign of being on drugs. Mr. Winslow said this was recent. Of course, Mr. Winslow had also said something about seeing Henry take cocaine as a teenager. Presumably he’d stopped and then relapsed?

“You realize you’re going to be arrested for kidnapping, right? You know this intervention story doesn’t really hold water. You just went along with it because you think you owe Robert.” Neal wasn’t in the chair anymore. He was leaning against the door to the bedroom. “The problem is, Robert’s been stringing you along. He’s left you here alone to deal with the aftermath. He’ll claim he had no idea what you were doing.”

Jason had been steps away from the door leading to the other bedroom, but he swung around to face Neal. “That’s not true,” he insisted, not as forcefully as he would have liked. The truth was, Mr. Winslow had been supportive and helpful and almost like a dad for nearly a decade. Then a few years ago, when Mr. Winslow didn’t need help to track Henry anymore, it was like he’d forgotten Jason existed. He almost never heard from him, and that had hurt. When Mr. Winslow had asked for help earlier this year, Jason had jumped into action out of habit, and because he’d missed having a father figure in his life. But the time apart seemed to have given him some immunity to Mr. Winslow’s charm. He found himself questioning the man more, and keeping his thoughts to himself rather than sharing all of his doubts for Mr. Winslow to explain away.

He’d started to suspect that Mr. Winslow wasn’t thinking entirely clearly, not when Henry was involved, anyway. And now his horror at the thought that he’d almost drugged the wrong person brought home how very serious things had gotten. Had he really been about to inject Henry Winslow with a powerful, addictive drug on the word of someone who seemed on the edge of rational thinking these days?

Yes. He’d been ignoring the voice inside his head that was telling him this was wrong, because he was jealous of Henry. Henry, who’d been born into the perfect, wealthy family and had a great job – not because he’d earned it – but because his last name was Winslow. He’d dropped out of college and wasted his time – slacking off – and according to Mr. Winslow was making more money than Jason was despite all his years of hard work while Henry had been aimlessly traveling.

He’d been fascinated with Henry, and hated him, and had let Mr. Winslow use that hatred. He could probably get away with claiming Mr. Winslow misled him, at least where Henry was concerned. But Angela Caffrey? How could he explain sedating and holding her here all this time? He’d crossed a line by participating in what anyone could see was the kidnapping of an innocent woman. The fact that Mr. Winslow said it wasn’t a big deal wasn’t going to help.

And now Neal was here. Neal, who worked with the FBI these days. He probably wasn’t alone. “Where are the agents?” Jason asked.

“Right here,” came a voice from behind the suite’s entry. A man in his late thirties opened the door fully and came forward. He wore a badge on his belt, and held a gun in one hand and a video recorder in the other.

Another agent, a woman who was also in her thirties, followed. She held handcuffs. She said she was Agent Tricia Wiese, told Jason he was under arrest, and told him his rights as she cuffed him and led him away.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter looked closely at Neal as Tricia cuffed Jason Ford. Since the suspect wasn’t resisting, and Young and Silva arrived to help escort him away, Peter stayed in the room. “You OK?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Neal. He said it in a nonchalant way, but looked stressed. He walked across the suite to knock on a door. “Angela? Ford’s gone. They arrested him. Let us in.”

While they listened to the sound of furniture being dragged away from the door, Peter said, “You changed shirts.”

Neal nodded. “Needed to look like Henry. They kept his room dark, no lights and the curtains closed. Probably to keep him disoriented and sleepy. I didn’t need to fool Ford for long. I just needed the element of surprise to throw him off guard and get him to admit what he was doing.” Neal shrugged his shoulders as if he were tense and trying to loosen up.

No wonder he was tense. Peter had heard enough while recording Ford to put together what had happened. Ford had come upstairs to inject Henry with a highly addictive drug. Neal had taken Henry’s place, presumably to protect his cousin and to get evidence. But Neal had admitted on the ride to the airport last month that one of his biggest fears was having an addiction.

“The recording from your watch, combined with my video and the other evidence we have should be enough to finish shaking Ford’s confidence in Robert. We’ll get Ford to talk. We were right that Robert isn’t here, but we’re a big step closer to catching him.”

Jones and Travis arrived, and Peter filled them in. Neal hovered in the background as a medic arrived and checked out the two victims. Angela borrowed Neal’s phone, and seemed to be calling family to tell them she and Henry were safe. Once the medic said Henry didn’t need anything more than rest and hydration to have a full recovery, Angela announced she needed a ride to the airport.

“You have to make a statement,” Peter insisted.

“Anyone who wants to talk to me can come to the airport with me. Graham Winslow is already on his way here in a private plane, and his wife says it will take me back home to D.C.”

Peter looked at Neal for support. “Don’t you think she should stay here?” When Neal shook his head, Peter appealed to Angela again, “The medics said the drug isn’t entirely out of your system yet, and you’ve been through a traumatic experience. I really think you should wait at least a day before you travel.”

Angela crossed her arms and said, “If you want to see trauma, try keeping me away from my mother. I promised I’d be with her on the anniversary of Dad’s death, and I just helped thwart that Jason Ford guy to make sure I got out of here to keep that promise. I’m not staying in New York unless you lock me up, and even then it’s iffy.”

Tricia had returned while the medics were checking out Henry, and Diana was with her. Diana spoke up. “I’ll go with her. I should return to D.C. anyway. I can take her statement on the plane, and keep an eye on her.”

“Gonna make sure I don’t freak out?” Angela said in a challenging way that reminded Peter of Neal.

“Yeah,” Diana said, her voice gentle. “I promise I’ll make sure you don’t freak out.”

Suddenly there were tears in Angela’s eyes, but she blinked them back and said, “OK.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

A team arrived to process the scene, and that reminded Angela to turn over Henry’s phone with the recording she’d made of Ford. Everyone listened to the recording there in the suite, and then Travis took the phone. He also collected Neal’s watch, Peter’s video recording, and the earpieces of the rest of the team.

When Neal heard Angela arguing with the evidence team in what had been her bedroom, he intervened. They wanted to keep Angela’s luggage and all of its contents for evidence, because she’d mentioned that it had looked like someone had gone through it. They wanted to search everything for fingerprints. With Neal’s assistance, Angela calmed down and the evidence techs agreed she could leave with her purse and as many items of clothing as would fit in an evidence bag. Then he asked her to sit with the still disoriented Henry and he went to the other bedroom, grabbing a bag of shaving gear from Henry’s luggage and tossing in his cousin’s toothbrush and a few other items – including his Shawn Legend ID. He looked up to see Peter watching him. “You got a spare evidence bag?” Neal asked.

Peter handed him one. “You notice something?”

“No, just going to grab some of Henry’s underwear. I’ve got a couple of his suits at my place.” He hadn’t sent the suits back to Dressa after Travis returned them, since she was still in Switzerland. He shrugged. “He’s like a brother, but there are still some things I don’t think either of us want to share.”

“You sure he should stay at your loft?” Peter asked. “I can’t see him making it up to the fourth floor. If we didn’t have an elevator here, I’d be tempted to ask the medics to take him down the stairs in a stretcher.”

“June has a bedroom on the ground level. When her granddaughters were little, she didn’t want them playing around the stairs and their parents didn’t want to carry them up that many levels. You remember it – it’s where they put Byron’s bed when he couldn’t climb the steps anymore.”

Peter nodded. “Let’s get going then.” With their help, Henry made it into the front passenger seat of Peter’s car. Neal sat behind Henry, with Diana and Angela also in the backseat. While Henry dozed, Angela confirmed that she’d called Noelle to tell her they were safe.

They got Henry settled in the first floor guest room while Diana ran up to Neal’s loft to grab her things. Angela pulled Neal aside. “You heard what Ford said on that recording, about Henry’s history with drugs. Do you know the details?”

“He’s never told me,” Neal said. “I know it was a long time ago, before I joined Urban Legend.” He took a deep breath. “The FBI knows about Urban Legend now. They won’t tell our families, but I’m pretty sure Win-Win will find out, since they’re on the case to find Robert.”

Angela nodded, not as concerned as Neal expected. She clearly had something else on her mind. “I checked in on Henry a couple of times while I tried to figure out how to escape. One of those times he told me a story. Only, I don’t think he knew it was me. He may have thought he was dreaming. Anyway, he described how he came to use cocaine when he was in high school.”

“Yeah?” Neal said, expecting her to fill in the blanks.

She shook her head. “I can’t betray his confidence. He probably wouldn’t want me to know, much less tell anyone but… You’ll stop Robert, right?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Neal said.

“Keep him away from Henry. And be careful. He hid it well, but Uncle Robert is evil.”

Neal wanted to press her for details, but Diana was there, saying their cab was waiting.

“We’ll see Graham Winslow at the airport,” Angela said. “He’s supposed to take us to his plane while it’s refueling. Do you want us to send him here?”

Neal glanced at Peter, who nodded. Neal said, “Yes. There’s no use fighting it. Once you tell him Henry is here no one could keep him away.”

While they waited for Graham to arrive, Peter checked in with the team. He put them on speaker phone to let Neal hear. Tricia reported that Jason Ford had asked for a lawyer but seemed inclined to cooperate. Jones said the team processing evidence in Enscombe was making good progress. Travis said he’d heard from Julia Winslow with an update. “She found an ID used on a flight from JFK to Chicago in the timeframe Robert flew, that was then used on a flight from Chicago to Seattle this afternoon. She’s certain it’s Robert. The alias he’s using is _James Bennett_. She’s running searches on the name to find prior travel and future itineraries. I’ll do the same thing –”

Peter interrupted him. “No. Do NOT run that name through the FBI databases. Leave it to Win-Win, and I’ll bring in the U.S. Marshals. I’ll explain when I’m back in the office.” Back when he’d first recruited Neal, the Marshals had warned not to do any searches that could bring the attention of James’ enemies to Neal’s presence in the Manhattan White Collar unit.

Neal stared at Peter. “You don’t think my…” He couldn’t bring himself to call James Bennett his dad.

“No, I don’t think he’s involved. This is Robert taking advantage of opportunity. From what you’ve said about the time James was arrested and confessed, my best guess is that the family would have sent Robert when James was moved from holding to a more secure facility. Robert was a cop at the time and would have been familiar with the rules for visiting prisoners and handling their personal effects. From the sounds of things, your mom wasn’t in any shape to visit a prison, and Noelle would have been busy helping out with her and you kids. James probably agreed to have his personal effects released to his family. Suppose Robert held on to a few things from his wallet, or even all of it. No one else wanted or needed it, right? An ID and credit cards, it would have been easy enough to change the mailing address for those cards to a post office box in Baltimore… Who’s going to complain or even know about a case of identity theft in those circumstances? It gives him a well-established identity ready whenever he needs to disappear.”

They called Marshal Annina Brandel to tell her about Robert using the former identity of a protected witness, and also to let her know about Jason Ford’s arrest. She asked for the opportunity to question Ford and his employer about the access and abuse of U.S. Marshal’s data from the email server, and Peter made another call to coordinate with Hughes to set the wheels in motion.

During the call to Hughes – which was not on speaker – Neal walked into the room where Henry was sleeping and was torn about what to do. He knew Henry would prefer to be awake and alert when Graham arrived, showing no sign of weakness. But did Graham need to see the extent of what Robert had done to him?

A middle ground was probably the best bet. Realistically Henry couldn’t fake being his normal alert, scheming self, not for long. Awake he’d have the chance to tell Graham he was all right, while Graham could judge for himself just how messed up Henry was. And maybe under the lingering influence of the sedative they could finally get some answers out of him.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Tricia stopped by the Ellington mansion when she left the Bureau. Before she went home, she wanted to give Peter an update in person and also wanted to see how Neal and Henry were doing.

She was escorted to a music room, where Peter sat on a chair located near a door. The door was only partially closed, and she could hear the voices of Neal, Henry, and Graham Winslow. She couldn’t make out all of the words, and tried to ignore the voices as she brought Peter up on the latest findings and her plans for tomorrow.

She was almost done when she heard Neal say, “Henry!” Neal rarely raised his voice, but now it was clear he was seriously displeased. Peter stood and walked toward the door, and Tricia followed. “Stop it,” Neal demanded. “I can get it out of Angela, or you can stop evading and tell us what Robert did.”

“It was a long time ago,” Henry protested.

“It’s still important,” Graham countered. “Just tell us. You’ll feel better to get it out of your system. Sounds like it’s been festering too long.”

“You won’t believe me,” Henry said, his voice uneven.

The room was a bedroom, with twin beds on opposite sides. Henry sat on one, with Neal on the other. _Smart_ , Tricia thought. Staying on the same level, rather than looking down on the cousin who was impaired. It made them feel like equals.

Graham Winslow had been standing, but he sat on Henry’s bed now and looked hurt. “Why would you say that?”

Henry huffed out an impatient breath. “You didn’t believe me about Jason Ford. Almost twelve years he stalked me. He had to kidnap me before anyone at Win-Win took him seriously.”

Graham looked confused at first and then asked, “He was the one following you when you were 16?”

“Yeah. Dad… Robert assigned him to watch me. When he told you I was making it up, you believed him.”

“I… God, boy, why didn’t you tell me? You could have talked to me, or told your mother.”

Henry scoffed. “Robert wasn’t going to let me talk to you alone. I thought if I got evidence, I could present it to Mom and she’d go to you, but Ford was too good.”

“Evidence? You honestly I thought I wouldn’t listen to you without evidence?”

“The word of a minor against the word of Robert – your son and one of your top investigators – no contest.”

Graham surged to his feet and walked out of the room. He kept walking until he was outside. Peter went into the room to talk to Neal and Henry. Tricia decided to follow Graham.

He sat on the steps leading up to the mansion’s front door. When Tricia sat beside him he nodded an acknowledgement and said in a gruff voice, “It’s at times like this I wish I still smoked. Gave it up when I married my first wife. She had asthma.”

“You love your family,” Tricia observed. “You’re willing to make sacrifices for them. It’s hard when they don’t appreciate that.” She paused and waited as Graham’s scowl started to fade. Then she added, “Henry knows you love him. I haven’t known either of you for long, but it’s obvious how much he means to you. Right now he has to be feeling scared and vulnerable. Kidnapping victims find it harder to trust people, especially at first. From what the medic said, he probably has a horrendous headache from the large dose of sedative that’s finally wearing off. If you give him another chance, let him know you want to hear his side of things, I think you could win him over.”

Graham nodded, still staring off into the distance. “I don’t usually take _no_ for an answer. But I hate to push him too hard. After what he’s been through, forcing him to give me answers doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Henry stood at the top of the steps. He had one hand resting on a pillar, but he was upright and standing on his own.

Graham scooted over and patted the empty space beside him. Henry sat down, and Neal and Peter followed. “It’s easier out here,” Henry said. “Out in the open after being locked in a dark room for a couple of days.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Graham asked.

Henry nodded. He talked first about what had happened at the airport, and how he was overpowered and tied up at Enscombe. He shared his concerns about Angela, and then his fears when Ford told him about the plan to inject him with heroin. Then he told a story about a high school drug bust and his father’s order to take the cocaine.

Everyone stayed silent during the story. They didn’t move. They barely breathed.

There was a pause when Henry finished. Graham simply looked at him for a moment, and then asked, “What else?”

Henry shuddered, then described being stalked by Ford over the years, and his fears about what Robert would do if Henry failed this test and let Ford catch him.

This time, when Henry finished, Graham wrapped him in a big bear hug, which Henry tolerated for about a minute before he struggled away. “Hey, tied to a chair for a couple of days, remember? Not fond of being pinned down right now.”

“I don’t have a hotel room yet,” Graham said. “Noticed there’s an extra bed in your room.”

Henry gave a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Medics said the sedative causes very intense, realistic dreams.”

“Nightmares,” Neal said.

“Yeah,” Henry agreed. “Not exactly restful, Pops. You’ll sleep better in a hotel.”

“No, I won’t,” Graham said, and there was no arguing with that tone.

When everyone stood to go back inside, Tricia said goodbye to them and said it was time for her to head home.

A few hours later, she checked in on her two sons, sleeping on twin beds on opposite sides of their bedroom, and she sighed to see them safe and secure. She lost track of time, watching them and thinking of how much she loved them.

“You going to stand here all night?”

Tricia turned around to see her husband, Mitch. “Tempting, after the day I’ve had.” She looked at her boys again. “They’re lucky.”

Mitch put an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “We’re all lucky to have you.”

She leaned against him a moment, then took his hand and led the way back to the living room, where they sat on the sofa. “Remember when I told you about the training opportunity at Quantico?”

“Behavioral Analysis group. Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m seriously tempted by it. I always wanted to work in that area. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good fit for me.”

“Then you should go,” Mitch said. “After all the times you’ve held down the fort here alone while I was out doing fieldwork, the least I can do is handle things while you do something like this.”

“Are you sure? You said there was a research project coming up in South America around the end of the year,” she reminded him, referring to a site where Mitch was expected to work his anthropological magic.

“There’ve been delays getting the permits. At this rate I think it could be spring before we can go.”

“And if they get the permits early?” Tricia asked.

“Then they can wait for me to join them.”

Tricia snuggled against him and smiled. “You’re an angel, you know that?”

He grinned. “Yeah, not so much. An angel wouldn’t be turned on by getting hauled in for questioning by an amazingly hot FBI agent.”

Tricia laughed at the memory. One of her first assignments out of Quantico had been investigating a returning group of anthropologists about suspicions they were smuggling artifacts into the country. “I was so determined to be taken seriously, as much by my all-male-team as I was by a bunch of suspects weary from a long flight from Peru.”

“You certainly made an impression,” Mitch said. “I was almost too scared to ask you out after you cleared me.”

“You worked up the courage.”

“Yeah, well, you were hot.”

“ _Were_?” Tricia faced him and raised a brow in warning.

“ _Are_. Definitely present tense.” They laughed again and relaxed into the sofa. Then Mitch asked, “What happened today?”

“We did good. Found a couple of kidnapping victims, returned the youngest – a girl about 22 or 23 – to her mother. The other one you may remember. Henry Winslow. He hosted that birthday lunch for Neal Caffrey back in March.”

Mitch nodded. “Cousins, right? I remember thinking they were brothers at first. Is he OK?”

“I think he will be. He has a lot of people who care about him rallying around him. Seeing him and Neal, the way they look out for each other… I hope our boys never have to go through some of the things these guys have experienced, and yet… I hope they have that same bond. That they’ll be there for each other.”

“And know we’re there for them.”

She nodded, pleased that Mitch got it. She was also determined to support Neal and Henry by succeeding in the assignment Peter had given her: flip Jason Ford to get his help apprehending Robert. That man needed to be stopped.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal had brought his guitar downstairs after dinner. He was glad to see Henry was awake and steady enough to play it while Neal accompanied him on the piano. The music melted from one song to another, as they took turns setting the direction and paused frequently to talk. Their minds were too full of questions, concerns and ideas to concentrate on one song for long.

Peter had gone home. Graham was at the opposite end of the music room talking to June about Byron. Neal had astounded all of them by reading a portion of the letter that had accompanied the box Byron left him. It described a chance encounter with an investigator in a bar, and in the box Neal had found Graham’s business card. This was the box Neal was filling with origami reminders of his successes in overcoming temptation to slide back into his criminal life. The letter left Graham and June with plenty to reminisce about, and that gave the cousins a measure of privacy.

“I got a message from Mozzie,” Neal said, as they finished a verse of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” He waited for Henry to put his final flourish on the tune and then added, “Robert talked to our contact at the charter plane service in Seattle. He leaves for Alaska in the morning.”

“Can you forgive me for reintroducing you to Robert? I must have been temporarily insane to think that he’d changed, or that my memories of him were exaggerated. I honestly thought he’d be happy if he met you, that you fulfilled his criteria for an ideal son better than I did.”

“He could never overlook my father’s crimes,” Neal said. “Nothing I did could please him in light of that prejudice. But you didn’t know that, and you aren’t responsible for Robert’s actions.” Wanting Henry to stop beating himself up, Neal changed the subject by saying, “I had to tell Peter about Urban Legend. He’s willing to treat Masterson as an official case. You wanna go for it?”

“Win-Win has those aliases, too?” Henry guessed.

“Yeah. Julia does. So far they probably don’t grasp the full picture of Urban Legend. We could tell Graham now. Give you both something else to talk about.”

“Not yet,” said Henry. “Mom will show up tomorrow. Better to tell them both at once.” He started playing “In the End” by Linkin Park.

Neal nodded as he picked up the piano intro to the song. That made sense, and it was good to hear Henry being calm and logical, but he was still worried. His cousin talked a good game, but when Henry started singing the chorus of “In the End” he sounded a little too convincing with those lyrics about how it didn’t matter how hard he tried.

Yeah, he’d definitely be keeping an eye on Henry these next few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: I’m not an expert on FBI procedures, drugs or the psychology of kidnap victims.
> 
> The letter from Byron is described in more detail in Caffrey Flashback. The undercover op at Enscombe also took place in that story.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading and for your comments! The Pinterest board for this chapter has been updated (search for Penna Nomen in Pinterest to find it). The character of Mitch – Tricia’s husband – is Silbrith’s brainchild. We envision him as portrayed by actor Misha Collins, so Tricia calling him an angel is also a joke tied to the role the actor plays in the TV series Supernatural. Mitch’s work frequently takes him to South America, which is where Adler is hiding – handy, right?


	32. Hard to Be Humble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I’m posting a day early because our weather might take down the power and then I wouldn’t be able to post at my usual time.  
> Warning for a conversation with Robert, who is an unpleasant person – especially when he’s angry.

**Ellington Mansion, Manhattan. Wednesday morning. July 14, 2004.**

Neal opened his eyes, looked at the bedside clock, and sighed. One of the perks of working for the FBI was keeping what most people considered normal hours. He didn’t have to wake up before dawn to pull heists anymore. At 5am, he should roll over and go back to sleep. But he couldn’t.

Everyone had turned in early last night. For Graham, going to bed at 10pm was a matter of habit. For Henry, the final remnants of the sedative he’d been given the last couple of days had him yawning. For Neal, concern for his cousins combined with spilling secrets he’d never planned to share had been an ordeal that had worn him down.

The first time he woke it was 1am, and he felt compelled to go downstairs. He slid soundlessly into the music room, and approached the bedroom door, which was open a crack. He heard Henry and Graham talking.

He wanted to listen, but instead forced himself to go back upstairs. Part of the reason for his retreat was practical; there would be a lot going on in the morning and he needed to be rested and on top of his game. But mostly, it was out of respect for Henry. He deserved privacy.

When Henry was getting his masters in psychology at DePaul, Neal had often impersonated him to attend his classes. They got through a heavy class load that way while also performing as Urban Legend. From what Neal remembered of those classes – not to mention plain common sense – he knew that Henry’s experiences with Robert left him wary of authority figures. His grandfather Graham was probably the best authority figure to be with him now, to help work through that distrust.

Now, four hours later, Neal was wide awake and oddly antsy. He stretched and got up, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He knew from experience that the only way to shake this feeling was to head downstairs and confront Henry. They’d learned in their years of traveling as Urban Legend that sometimes when they were working together they could almost read each other’s minds. It resulted in abbreviated conversations Neal described as twin-speak, and it also meant that right now Neal wasn’t really antsy. He was picking up on Henry’s state of mind.

Sure enough, Henry was in the music room, pacing silently on bare feet. He wore a Coldplay T-shirt and jeans he’d left with Neal after his visit in January. Henry didn’t look up or stop prowling the room when Neal entered, but he was aware of him. “The FBI medics were right,” he said.

“Too much of the sedative makes you jittery as it wears off,” Neal said, remembering what the medics had said yesterday.

“Yeah. I’ve gotten too much sleep the last few days, and now that I’m awake I can’t stop thinking about all the things that could have gone wrong.”

Neal could feel his pulse starting to accelerate in response to Henry’s stress. He took deep, calming breaths and sat down. He needed to bring relaxation to Henry instead of matching his cousin’s restlessness. “When the FBI thought you might be hiding out someplace instead of being kidnapped, one of their theories was you’d gone to the Catskills, out of cell phone range. Remember the Burke family cabin?”

Henry slowed his pacing slightly. “Yeah.”

“Peter sent his brother Joe up there to look for you.” Neal paused a moment and added, “It was a great place to hang out. Peaceful and picturesque. I wanna go back someday and paint. Maybe when it isn’t covered in ice.”

Henry stood still and faced Neal. “The sledding was good, though.”

Neal smiled. “Yeah, that was good. Someday we’ll have to repeat the snowball fight. Now that I have some practice, I won’t let you cheat.”

“That wasn’t cheating. That was strategy. I’m more experienced. Naturally I won.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Neal said. “We never really defined criteria for winning or losing.”

Henry sat on the opposite side of the sofa. “Don’t tell me you think you won?”

“I think you’re overlooking another participant. Someone who wasn’t hit by any snowballs, who pounced on both of us, and had at least as much fun as we did.”

Now Henry laughed. “Satchmo. Maybe he did have the superior strategy.”

Back in March, Noelle had suggested that Neal fix the memory of that snowball fight in his mind, as a time he’d been carefree and happy. She’d said he could use that memory to calm himself in stressful situations.

“And you call me an armchair psychologist,” Henry said. “You have a few tricks up your sleeve, too.” Of course Henry knew this stuff inside out. He’d been working at Win-Win over a year now, where they applied psychology to cases and subscribed to the latest journals on the subject. “Mom’s on her way back from Geneva. She couldn’t get a direct flight, but her layover in London wasn’t very long. She should be here in a couple of hours.” He looked carefully at Neal. “You have any more flashbacks since we got back from the cabin?”

“Nope,” Neal said. “I’m done with that. Your mom knows her stuff.”

“Nightmares?”

“Rarely. Nothing major. What about you? Any problems last night?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect.” He frowned. “Mom’s gonna say I should see a therapist.”

Neal agreed, but he didn’t have to say it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Henry muttered. “Of all people, a psychology major should see the value of therapy. But the problem is I’ll get distracted with analyzing a therapist’s technique and guessing what the next question will be.”

“You’ll try to outthink the therapist instead of opening up about your issues.”

Henry nodded.

“What about forms of therapy you didn’t study? Is there any approach that could take you by surprise?”

Leaning back into the sofa, Henry stared up at the ceiling. “I did read about a different approach that’s common in India. Maybe I could have a Beatles moment and go seeking enlightenment?”

“Someone compared me to a young Paul McCartney recently.”

“Clearly not someone who’s actually heard you sing,” Henry said, sitting up straight.

“Watch the insults about my singing. That voice analysis program Mozzie ran could barely tell us apart.”

“Well sure, you sound decent –”

“Not just when I’m impersonating –” Neal interrupted.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Noelle had managed to catch an earlier flight out of London, eager to see her son. As she approached the Ellington Mansion she checked her watch. She’d set it to Eastern Time after she boarded the plane in Heathrow. She’d rushed here from JFK, and now realized it was barely 5:30 in the morning. She hated to wake the household by ringing the doorbell. Fortunately the chef was arriving at the same time, recognized her from a previous visit, and let her follow him in through the kitchen. Now she stood at the entrance of the music room and soaked in the sights and sounds.

Henry and Neal were mirror images of each other, sitting cross legged on opposite sides of a sofa. Both had bare feet and wore jeans and pale T-shirts. Their hair was mussed; it looked like they had each run their hands through it rather than bother with a comb. They looked so young, and more alike than ever.

They were talking, mere snippets of sentences that one would interrupt before the other was finished because they didn’t need to hear it all to know what was being said. Noelle remembered talking with her twin sister like that. It drove their brother crazy, but why waste time with a bunch of words if you didn’t need them? Hearing it now filled her with nostalgia. She missed those earlier, more innocent days. She had been worried almost out of her mind about Henry, and the relief of seeing and hearing him being wonderfully normal went directly to her heart. Exhausted, she dropped her luggage and couldn’t be calm and professional another minute. She started to cry.

The boys stood up and approached cautiously. Henry hugged her. “It’s OK, Mom. Angela and I are both fine. No lasting harm.”

Noelle squeezed him as tightly as she could, then let go to wipe her eyes and search his face. She reached up and kissed his brow. “I love you so much.” Then she reached over to squeeze Neal and kiss his cheek. “You, too.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was kidnapped,” Neal said.

“Keep it that way. Both of you avoid kidnappings from now on,” she ordered.

“Not so much a kidnapping,” Henry protested. “More like being held against my will once I arrived.”

“Not helping,” Noelle said. She walked to the sofa and sat down, toeing off her shoes. “Coffee?”

“I’ll get it,” Neal volunteered and headed to the kitchen.

Henry sat beside his mother. She couldn’t help running her hands down his arms and holding his hands, checking to be sure he was unharmed and whole. “Wanna count my fingers and toes?” he asked.

“You don’t know how tempting that is. Are you sure you’re all right? Did you see a doctor?”

“FBI medics cleared me. I’m fine.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Pops stayed here. Shared my room last night. When I woke up, we talked. You know, about Robert and stuff.”

“That’s a start, but being kidnapped…” She paused as Henry was about to interrupt. “Being _held against your will_ is traumatic. You should see a professional therapist.”

“Yeah. Already had that conversation with Neal. I have something in mind.”

Neal returned with a cup of magnificent coffee. They kept the conversation light at first, but by the time Graham woke and joined them, Noelle had heard most of the details of the kidnapping. The fact that Joe Burke had played a role in the rescue melted her heart toward him. She had already been nearly convinced to give him a second chance. Now she would definitely need to return his calls. “Neal saved the day,” she remarked.

“I needed to,” Neal said. “This spring everyone came to my rescue. It was time to return the favor.”

Noelle was pleased to see Neal’s combination of pride in being able to help, and restraint in not lording it over Henry.

Henry, on the other hand... He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he didn’t like needing to be rescued. He was a protective big brother to the core, and it bothered him that Neal and Angela had been in harm’s way. He would believe he should have found a way to keep them out of it. Yes, she’d definitely keep pushing him to see a therapist.

“Does Robert know you’re free?” Noelle asked as they sat down to breakfast in the dining room.

Henry glanced at Graham and Neal.

“I don’t think so,” said Neal. “The only person who could tell him is Jason Ford, and he wouldn’t be allowed to contact Robert.”

“Might have guessed, though,” said Graham. “They probably had scheduled times to check in that have been missed. Robert would have put two and two together.”

“It’ll drive him nuts, won’t it?” Henry mused. “What if we took another step to push him over the edge?” He outlined a plan to withdraw a small amount from Robert’s hidden bank account.

“Julia could make the withdrawal online,” Graham said. “We have the account data in our case file. How much should I tell her to take?”

“Eight dollars and seven cents.”

“August seventh. Your birthday,” said Noelle. “It tells Robert you’re free and able to tweak him in a way he didn’t expect. It also tells him his supposedly secret account isn’t a secret anymore. He’ll worry the FBI will shut it down. What do you hope to gain by warning him of that?”

“Robert will realize he needs to get away and rethink his plans,” Henry said.

“But he’s already doing that,” Neal protested.

“Trust me,” said Henry. “I talked to him a few times at Enscombe. He’s teetering on the edge of rationality. It’s time to give him a shove.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Agent Travis Miller arrived at the Federal Building before 7am. Overnight he’d had an idea how to extract even more data from Jason Ford’s cell phone, and he was eager to get started.

In the lab, he heard a pager beeping. A quick glance showed him that Ford’s pager had several messages from the last couple of hours. They were all the same: a telephone number someone wanted Ford to call.

Travis made note of the number and sent it to Julia Winslow at Win-Win. He wondered if Agent Burke would want to call the number and perhaps talk to Robert Winslow. Maybe they could gather evidence or insight from talking to him. Travis was looking up Peter’s cell phone number when another phone vibrated.

Jason Ford’s phone was receiving a call from the same number that had been left on the pager.

“Fortune favors the bold,” Travis muttered, and although he didn’t generally consider himself bold, these were extenuating circumstances. He’d seen the room where Henry Winslow had been tied up, the ropes and handcuffs on the floor next to the chair. He’d heard about the syringe of heroin, and witnessed Henry’s determination to make it out of that suite without being carried. There had been a wounded pride there that reminded Travis of what he’d seen from victims of bullying in high school. It demanded to be acknowledged and honored, and in response Travis hooked the phone up to a recording device and answered, “Hello. You’ve reached the FBI.”

“You’ve got Ford then. I thought he was smarter than your type.”

“He’s smart, but he was exhausted. You left him an impossible task to handle on his own. We had him outnumbered.” Travis paused. “I take it this is Robert Winslow?”

“Yeah, you’re a genius. I’m trashing this phone in a minute. Tracking it won’t make any difference.”

“I have to try. It’s protocol.”

“Henry survived, then?”

“That’s right. And Angela, too.”

“Whatever. Tell him I got his message. Turns out he’s not braindead after all. But that doesn’t mean he’s smart enough to catch me. He’ll never measure up to his old man.”

_Who would want to?_ Travis wondered, but remained silent.

“He might have been good enough, someday, but that Neal kid went and ruined him. You know him? I still can’t believe the FBI hired Neal Caffrey.”

“We’ve met.”

“He’s a crook, you know. Just like his dad. And that’s not the worst of it. He’s too pretty to be a real man. I don’t want that kind of influence around my boy, you know what I mean?”

“I… Do you mean making Henry jealous? Because that doesn’t seem to be an issue from what I can tell. And I don’t think anyone would say Henry suffers in comparison. He’s good looking, too, just in a more butch way.”

“God help me. Are you one of them, too? One of those homos? I did my best to steer my boy away from that kind of influence, but it’s everywhere these days. Did that Neal Caffrey lead both of you astray?”

Travis was taken aback. They were talking about cousins after all, and he hadn’t seen anything yesterday that looked even remotely romantic between them. He’d have called them brotherly. Beyond that, it had been obvious on the 4th of July that Neal was into Sara Ellis. The first response that came to mind was denial. That had been his reaction throughout his youth with a father who shared a lot of opinions with Robert. But instead he took a calming breath and tried to channel Spock again. _Be logical and matter-of-fact about this,_ he told himself.

“Are you asking if Neal somehow turns other men gay because he has a certain look? I can assure you that isn’t how it works. And he is straight, you know. If you find yourself attracted to him, it isn’t his fault.”

Robert sputtered.

“And regarding Neal and Henry, I think you’re imagining things. They aren’t a couple. _I would know_.”

“You’re an expert?”

“That’s right. I’m gay, and right now I’m leading the investigation to find you.”

“No, you’re not. Peter Burke is in charge.”

“He got pulled off the case to handle the kidnapping. You see, finding Henry was considered a lot more urgent than finding you. Now that we have your son safe, Peter will probably take over the case again, but remember this: I will make sure I stay on your case.”

“I’m not worried about any –” Here Robert launched into a laundry list of slurs against Travis’ orientation. He wrapped the call up with, “It’s Burke who should worry. I know what he did, at the airstrip. He won’t get away with it.”

Travis ended the recording after Robert disconnected, and he called Peter to recap the conversation.

“You OK?” Peter asked. “We don’t expect the criminals we go after to be polite, but I don’t like to have my team subjected to that kind of abuse.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Travis said. Hearing concern from his manager helped reinforce that he was in a better place now than he’d been as a kid. “What did he mean about the airstrip?”

“Back in March, Henry and Neal got into a tight spot. I impersonated Robert to get them out. It was Neal’s plan, actually. I took one of those dye-pack guns and shot Henry in the chest. The bad guys assumed he was dead and wouldn’t rat them out, and they ran for it.”

“You let them get away?”

“Not before Henry placed a tracking device in their plane. We got some good intel out of that, considering it was an unplanned, unsanctioned op. And don’t ever tell Neal I said that.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

With the assurance that Travis was going to be fine and was more eager than ever to catch Robert, Peter called Jones to make sure he would catch up with Travis and help move that case forward. He’d read the report Diana sent of what she’d learned from Angela on the flight back to D.C. He already knew Tricia’s plans for Ford today; he texted her to take the lead on the morning briefing, and then drove to Riverside Drive. He wanted to know what “message” Henry had sent Robert, and realized he would be more likely to get answers in person.

When he arrived, Noelle was walking downstairs, and she joined him in the entry. “June convinced me to stay here, at least for today,” she explained. “I must thank her again. After that long, stressful flight, a shower and change of clothes have made me feel like a new woman.” She gave him a quick hug. “Thank you so much for finding Henry and getting him out of that place.”

“He told you about it?” Peter asked. “You look so calm… I mean, when he told us his memories of using cocaine as a kid…” He trailed off, because Noelle’s face was transitioning from calm to stormy. He had a feeling he should have kept his mouth shut.

“When he was a boy, Robert sent him to make an undercover purchase…”

Peter nodded.

“And Robert said… It wasn’t peer pressure was it? Robert convinced him to take it.”

Peter nodded.

“And why would Henry have been thinking about that? What did Robert do to him this time?”

“Nothing, it was just a threat he didn’t have time to carry out. And I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Oh!” Noelle looked furious. “You better believe Henry will tell me before this day is through. It’s times like this that I don’t think divorcing Robert was enough. Can I divorce him again, just to make the point?”

“I’m sure there’s a lawyer out there who would be willing to take your money,” Peter said. “You don’t have to answer this, but it’s been on my mind, especially today… What did you ever see in Robert?”

“What you’ve seen recently is a dark side he kept carefully hidden. His choice of Mr. Hyde as an alias was very revealing. When I met him, I was a psychology student doing a summer internship at Win-Win, and he was a young cop who joined the company gatherings because they were also family gatherings. He was a well-educated, well-spoken, bright and ambitious young man. If there was a hint of a dark, dangerous side, you could explain it as the result of the things a police officer would encounter. He was protective and if he clung tightly to his opinions, you could describe that as strength of character rather than stubbornness. It’s hard to say now if the smooth surface was something real, or simply a lure to fit in and get what he wanted. Maybe he really once was the man I fell in love with, and his ambitions corrupted him. Maybe someone not blinded by love would have noticed sooner and been able to steer him away from the path he’s on now.”

“Is blaming yourself for other people’s faults and problems a Caffrey family trait?” Peter asked, thinking of how Henry had described Neal.

Noelle was surprised into a laugh. “Perhaps. It’s such an Irish trait to be brooding, isn’t it? We need something worthwhile to brood over. But you said _especially today_. Has Robert done something new?”

“He called the phone of his accomplice. The phone was in an FBI lab and a member of my team who was there answered, hoping to get new information and insights. Robert figured out the agent is gay and lambasted him for that.”

“I assume this means that Henry’s idea shook Robert up as intended.”

“What idea?” Peter asked. “And what was he thinking, doing something like that without letting the case agent know what to expect?”

“Best to ask him yourself. We can gather everyone. Neal’s upstairs getting dressed for work and should be down in a moment. I’ll get Graham; he’s in the library talking to Win-Win. We’ll meet you in the music room.”

He heard the piano as he walked into the music room and expected to see Neal or June, but it was Henry. Before Peter could get his attention, Henry started singing along to the music, a particularly depressing song, in Peter’s opinion. Neal walked in and stood beside Peter. “You know this song?” Peter asked softly, feeling he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Yeah. ‘Untitled’ by Simple Plan.”

“Not the most, um, rousing thing to play.”

“When Henry’s happy or angry, he’s a guitar man. He only goes to the piano willingly if he’s melancholy.”

“That’s putting it mildly. I feel like if Satchmo were here he’d be howling in sympathy.”

“Maybe when this is all over we should get Henry a dog.”

When the song was over and everyone was gathered, Henry described what they’d done with Robert’s secret account. “I was sure he’d have alerts set up to let him know of any activity on that account. So it got some kind of reaction?”

“You could say that. He tried paging and then calling Ford. One of my agents decided to answer Ford’s phone and got an earful.”

“Anything useful?” Henry asked.

Peter looked at Henry and couldn’t bring himself to repeat the ugliness of that call. They already knew Robert was filled with anger and hate. What good would it do to repeat another example? “We’ll analyze it for background noises, and Travis is working with Win-Win to pinpoint where he called from.”

“Seattle,” said Neal. “Mozzie called while I was upstairs. He confirmed Robert chartered a flight to Alaska, and it took off about 30 minutes ago. Mozz will be back in New York tonight.”

“We need to get a warning to Heinemann,” Peter said. “Having Robert looking for the guy in his current state of mind, who knows what he might do? Originally I’d thought he’d just try to buy Heinemann off, but he could decide to kill him rather than let Win-Win recruit him and get access to his facial recognition software.”

“It’s OK,” Neal said. “Mozzie bribed the charter pilot. He’s going to fake mechanical problems and take the plane down on one of the uninhabited barrier islands. It’ll be a controlled crash landing in an area without any landscape that could serve as a runway. They’ll have to wait for rescue.”

Peter gave him a look that indicated they would talk later. He understood that Neal had been taking steps on his own to prove he could do the job without preferential treatment, but it was past time to bring the FBI fully into these plans.

“And anyway, Heinemann was never in Alaska,” Henry added. “He’d mentioned a wish to go there, and we played that up in ways we knew Robert would discover. We even booked a flight for me to go there, but it was all a misdirect. Heinemann’s been living in a small town in Massachusetts the last few years.”

“You found him!” Graham was delighted. “Did you talk to him about working with Win-Win?”

Henry nodded. “He’s interested, but you gotta understand why he dropped out of sight to begin with. It wasn’t all about concerns of what the government might do with his technology. His partner died, and he was having a really rough time.”

“Partner?” Graham repeated. “I thought he was in academia. Did he have a business on the side?”

“Not that kind of partner, Pops. Life partner. Ever since Glen died, Vernon has been in Massachusetts, supporting the campaign to legalize gay marriage.”

Graham looked thoughtful. “Hmm.”

“I promised him I’d ask about Win-Win’s policies. Will the company be willing to support him against discrimination? If he were to get married someday, would his husband get the benefits of a straight spouse?”

“I don’t think we have policies on any of that. I’d have to talk to the board of directors, bring in the HR department. For someone we want this much, I think we’d have a good shot at getting those policies through. And your mother has a seat on the board. She’s a born do-gooder and crack negotiator. That’ll help.”

“Seriously?” said Henry. “I didn’t think you’d go for it.”

“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks? I got news for you, whippersnapper. I grew up in a time when nobody questioned racism ‘cause it was the status quo. I’ve lived through the civil rights movement and then women’s rights with the ERA. I learned to support both of those. You grew up taking it for granted. I’m the one with practice adjusting my view of the world.”

“So you’re OK with it?” Henry asked. “Vernon can be open about his orientation at Win-Win?”

“It does take more than two minutes. It’ll take some getting used to, but I’ll make it through another round of learning people who are different from me are still my equals.”

“Sure, I get it.” Henry waited a few seconds and grinned, “Are you there yet?”

Graham groaned. “Give me strength.”

“This is why Henry drove most of the time we spent together,” Neal said to Noelle. “The minute I got behind the wheel he was too impatient and bossy to deal with.”

“Hey!” Henry protested. “You totaled my car!”

“You were distracting me,” Neal countered.

Peter stood up. “I need to get back to the office and check on the team. What do you say we convene here again after lunch, and discuss the Masterson case?”

“The file you hid at Win-Win?” Graham asked Henry, who nodded.

“Do you need me for this?” Noelle asked.

“You should hear the first part,” Henry suggested.

“It could help to get your thoughts on Stan Masterson,” Neal added.

Noelle stood up, too. “Then I think a nap is definitely in order. I’ve staved off jet lag as long as I can.”

While Noelle walked upstairs, Peter headed toward the door. In the background he could hear Graham ask, “What’s this about your car?” followed by squabbling from the cousins. It was good to hear them being so normal, after all they’d been through.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter returned from the Federal Building, Noelle was in the sitting room off the entry hall, talking on her cell phone. She said, “One minute, Mom,” and looked at Peter. “We have a peace accord drafted. My parents will leave Switzerland tomorrow.”

Peter smiled. That tied directly into an idea that had been lingering in the back of his mind the last couple of hours. “Will there be a lot of press?”

“Probably.”

“Good. Where’s Neal? I need to talk to him before we gather everyone together again.”

“In his loft. He went upstairs when Graham and Henry got into a long conversation about sailing.” Then she turned back to her phone. “Yes, Mom, I talked to Angela. She wasn’t hurt at all. She’s with Paige and they’re both very sad about the anniversary of losing David, but they’re coping well.”

Peter walked upstairs and found the door to Neal’s loft ajar. He knocked anyway and Neal called out, “Come in.” Neal was sitting on a dining room chair, playing his guitar softly.

Somewhat to Peter’s surprise, he recognized the song. It was an old one, something his brother Joe used to sing – with enthusiasm if not any real talent. Neal was humming the tune as he played, but stopped at the end of a verse. “Go ahead,” said Peter. “Get it out of your system.”

“It’s not my usual thing,” Neal said, his fingers paused on the guitar strings. “It’s just been in my head ever since Noelle told me she was proud of me for being a hero and still being humble about it.”

“Don’t hold back,” Peter said. The song did carry some good memories from his youth, and he was curious to hear Neal sing country.

Neal launched into “It’s Hard to Be Humble,” a song extolling the perfection of the singer. He watched Peter’s reaction and adjusted his performance to bring a smile – even a laugh – as he bragged about his skills and looks.

For the first time since Neal admitted to being part of Urban Legend, Peter got it. You could toss him a ridiculous song like that and he didn’t just sing it. He _performed_ it. He left you wanting to throw another song at him to see what he could do with it.

“Not bad,” Peter said when the song was finished.

Neal raised a brow. Obviously he knew he was good. He’d been showing off.

Peter sat across the table from him. “Yes, your cousins think you’re heroic, and you’re proud of that. Thus the song choice. I get it. But before we launch into our next case, we need to talk.” He waited while Neal put the guitar down and then said, “I read your notes about Masterson, and the information you got from Julia Winslow. Something that stood out to me is that he seems to be a loner.”

“I know he can’t pull off everything alone,” Neal said. “He’s giving orders to people who must realize what they’re doing is wrong, but all indications are that he calls the shots.”

“If he was part of a team, they might help moderate him, but those financials indicate someone who’s starting to think he’s invincible. He’s barely bothering to hide his tracks lately.”

“That’s part of the advantage we’ll have,” Neal said. “He thinks everyone is out for themselves, but I’ve gathered a crew that will blow his mind. Together we’ll take him down.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, because I was starting to worry you had a lot in common with Masterson.” He took in Neal’s look of surprise. “Yesterday, you went off on your own without telling anyone on the team what you had planned. In the middle of an op, I have to make split-second decisions based on all the information available to me, and you left me with a gigantic blind spot.”

“It worked out all right.”

“Yes, because we were lucky. Ford wasn’t armed, and Robert wasn’t there. Things could have gone very differently.”

Neal ran his hands through his hair. “I needed to save them, Peter. This spring, everyone came together to save me. You, Noelle, Henry, even Elizabeth and Satch. I’ve got what feels like an ever-expanding family who want to support me, and what have I done for them? How do I show them I appreciate it? I had to save them, Peter.”

“So you’re telling me this is a one-time thing, and it won’t happen again now that you’ve got this whole hero complex thing over with?”

“Well, I… I kind of liked being a hero.”

“How about being part of a team of heroes?”

“Let me guess. You’re the leader of this team?”

“Naturally. It’s my job to make sure all of the heroes contribute to the best of their ability, that they communicate and let me know if they need help. If we want to trip up Masterson, or Robert for that matter, we need to attack as a team.”

“For a long time it was just me, or me and Henry. It’s not that I don’t get what you’re saying. I see your point and respect your role...”

“But you’re not used to working that way,” Peter acknowledged. “Are you willing to give it a try?”

“I’ll work on it.”

“Me, too,” Peter promised. “I’ll add it to my list of reminders for you, along with _by the book_ and _nothing stupid_. Now we have: you’re part of a team. You know, it’s not just something you need to learn at the FBI. It’s important to keep in mind with a family, too. Someday, if you get married…”

Neal grinned. “So you’re not satisfied with nagging me at work. You gonna ride herd on me while I raise my kids?”

“Yeah, um, about that…” Peter cleared his throat. “Is that what you envision for yourself? Typical marriage and kids?”

“Sure, why not? Are you worried about the flashbacks I was having? That’s under control now.”

“No. What I meant was, if you want something different… Something less traditional, for instance, that’s OK. Not everyone wants the same things.” Why the hell did Graham Winslow sound so much more eloquent on this topic? “You don’t have to rush into marriage, if you’re not sure… I mean, there are other options. If you want to explore those options, I’m here for you.”

Neal had been staring at Peter in confusion, and now he blinked. “Are you and Elizabeth having problems?”

“What? No. I’m not talking about El. Damn, I’m no good at this.”

“The thing is… I don’t judge or anything, but personally I’m not into… I mean, I’m flattered. But it’s not my thing and you’re like a dad to me anyway –”

“Stop!” Peter said, aware he was turning red. “Let’s back up. This morning, when Robert called, he poured every homophobic slur he could think of into Travis’ ears.”

“Why?”

“Because Travis admitted to being gay.” Peter noted Neal’s surprise. “Yeah, he’s not as upfront about it as Diana Berrigan is. His choice, so don’t spread it around. He lets people know when he thinks they’re ready to hear it.”

Neal looked contemplative, and Peter decided to shut up and let him think. “When Robert blackmailed me into leaving Henry alone, he said I was a bad influence, and insinuated I was gay. Is that what this is all about?”

“I wanted you to know it’s OK. Whatever your orientation, it doesn’t change things, not as far as I’m concerned.”

“That’s good to know. Robert was wrong about me, in more ways than one. I’m not gay, but having your support, that means a lot.”

They paused, mentally exhausted from circling around the issue. Then Peter said, “Getting back to the topic of teamwork versus going lone wolf, I’m going to make sure you keep me in the loop on this Masterson case.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I’m going undercover with you as Urban Legend’s business manager.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading, and I’ve enjoyed reading your comments. In next week’s chapter we’ll take a break from the unpleasantness of Robert as the characters dive into the Masterson Music case. 
> 
> Diana had to go back home, but I promise she will be back.
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her beta feedback and for inspiring Henry’s idea for therapy. It’s called Mindfulness, and it’s described in the final chapters of The Queen's Jewels, which is set a few months after this story.


	33. Tuition

**Neal’s loft, Manhattan. Wednesday afternoon. July 14, 2004.**

Neal tried not to look as doubtful as he felt about Peter’s intention to go undercover as Urban Legend’s business manager. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Peter. “This way I can keep an eye on you and help with the case.”

“Last time you went undercover was in St. Louis, back in December.” Neal left unsaid his opinion that he’d pretty much saved the day. Roland Villiers probably would have gotten away, if not for his help.

“Don’t forget my work at the airstrip this spring, pretending to be Robert to save you and Henry. Robert certainly hasn’t forgotten it.”

Neal didn’t like the sound of that. Being the center of Robert’s attention was rarely a good thing, but he put that aside to point out, “It was my plan at the airstrip, though.”

“Is that what this is about? You think I’ll meddle with your plan?”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “It’s bad enough that I’ll be fighting Henry for control. A couple of weeks ago he agreed to go along with my plan instead of his original approach and it wasn’t easy for him, but now he’s smarting at having been rescued and will want to reassert his authority as the big brother. If all three of us are trying to run the show, the Masterson con is doomed.”

“It’s an FBI case,” Peter said. “Ultimately the success or failure is my responsibility as the team lead. I need you to trust that I’m smart enough to realize you and Henry are the music experts. I’ll provide guidance to make sure we get a clean arrest and a conviction, but that doesn’t mean I’ll constantly be in your way.”

Neal slumped back in his chair. “An FBI case, but Julia Winslow is providing valuable input. Graham will consider it a Win-Win case. Now it’s a four-way tussle of the alphas.”

“We managed to work together on the Highbury case,” Peter said bracingly. “We can make this work, too.” He stood up. “C’mon. Let’s give this a try. We’ll see if you and Henry can handle a joint briefing.” As they reached the door to Neal’s loft he added, “And one more thing. We need to be on the same page on our terminology. This isn’t a con. It’s a sting.”

“But a sting is just another word for a…” Neal trailed off at Peter’s unyielding stare. Best to save his energy for more important arguments, he decided. “Right, let’s get down there and start the sting.”

They found Graham and Noelle in the music room, where Henry was wrapping up the story of saving Shannon Hunter, meeting her father Lawson, and then working for Lawson’s sister Miranda Garza. He’d just finished describing how Miranda made up the pseudonym Shawn Legend to help Henry get work as a musician, and how he’d then brought Neal to Miranda. If Henry hammered home the point that he’d rescued Neal and had been the leader of Urban Legend, that was OK with Neal. He’d always been grateful for Henry’s help, and realized that his cousin’s pride was at stake here. It would be easier to deal with Henry as equals: They had each saved the other. Everyone knew that now, and therefore Henry wouldn’t feel a constant need to prove he wasn’t weak because he hadn’t been able to escape Enscombe on his own.

“That’s why you didn’t call on your 20th birthday,” Noelle said. “You were in the hospital. We’d always at least talked on your birthday, and not being able to contact you at all scared me.” She shook her head. “I was in such a panic I even called Robert to see if he could find you with Win-Win resources and confirm you were all right. He called back with a condescending diatribe about how you were too old to be a mama’s boy and I should back off. He said it looked like you’d gone out with friends and had been too drunk and then too hungover to talk. He… He made me feel like I was being ridiculous, and smothering you.”

“That’s why I saw Ford in the hospital. Robert must have realized something was going on and sent him to check up on me. I panicked and was too drugged to explain why at the time, but Lawson got the gist. He helped me hide by registering me under his son’s name in the hospital.”

“You didn’t come to us for help because you knew we’d use Win-Win resources,” Graham said. “Everything would have gone into a file, and Robert would have had access.”

“I couldn’t take the chance,” Henry said. “You weren’t ready to hear how dangerous Robert was. And I suppose I wasn’t ready to admit how much he scared me.”

Wanting to keep the discussion on track, Neal jumped in with a description of how they had filled in for other musicians and performed on their own to road test Miranda’s songs. Henry mentioned their work recording demos and acting as backup in recording sessions for songs that had gotten on the radio.

“When we were getting started as Urban Legend,” Henry said, “Stan Masterson bought a failing record company and started offering contracts to a bunch of singers. For a few months it seemed like we were always running into someone celebrating how they’d made the big time. Some really did hit the jackpot, and remembered us when it came time to record their albums. But a lot of people started to realize that a Masterson contract was often more a curse than a blessing. He was signing them to take them off the market, so they wouldn’t compete with artists with a similar sound that he wanted to support. The non-compete clause was a killer. He was driving them out of the music business altogether. Most had to find other work, and you know at the end of five years they probably wouldn’t want to take the chance of giving up their jobs to take a shot at music again. Some tried to scrape by on the fringes of the music world. Some tried to fight back, and Masterson’s lawyers stomped on them and then put out word that these musicians were troublemakers who should be avoided. Friends of ours we’d been celebrating with when they first signed contracts were in the depths of despair. A few were so despondent they talked about killing themselves, and I tried to point them to professional help or suicide hotlines. Most of them rebounded, but not all. I heard about too many funerals.”

“That’s part of what drove you to get your master’s degree,” Neal said.

“I took a good look at what we were doing with our lives. We couldn’t make the big time in music. We couldn’t sign a contract under names that had no social security numbers, and we couldn’t sign as ourselves and stay hidden. I wanted a better life for both of us. Going back to school was a start. Settling in campus housing in Chicago gave us a steady home base for the first time. You did more painting than you’d been able to do when we were constantly on the road. I convinced you to cover some of my classes, and you realized you had what it took to handle college. Took you long enough to enroll, though.”

“I’m not officially enrolled,” Neal said. He wanted to turn the conversation back to Masterson Music, but first had to answer questions from Graham about having applied to Columbia. “I don’t think I can go,” Neal said. “We’ve got so many balls in the air with this case, and I still haven’t figured out how I would pay for a school like Columbia, anyway.”

“Ah,” said Graham. “You haven’t talked to Noelle, then, have you?”

“Dor and Dressa covering it?” Henry guessed. “They wanted to pay when Columbia accepted me. They were even willing to pay when I picked the University of Texas, but the scholarship covered almost everything.”

“I’m not taking their money,” Neal objected.

“I told them you’d say that,” Noelle said. “They would be willing, but I knew you wouldn’t be comfortable with that yet.”

“Yet?” Neal challenged.

“You’re in their wills, sweetheart. Someday you’ll inherit money from them. You can give it all to charity if you want, but the money will be yours eventually. Hopefully that will be long after you finish school, of course. So in the meantime, I submitted your name for a scholarship.”

“It’s too late,” Neal said. “I already talked to the financial aid office. All scholarships for the fall semester had already been granted before I even took the entrance exams.”

“True. However, this isn’t a scholarship from Columbia. You see, when Robert was fired, he was divested of all his shares of Win-Win. Because he had wronged several people using the data and authority he once held in Win-Win, I recommended that the board place the cash value of Robert’s shares into a fund to make reparations to the people he harmed. Your scholarship is from Win-Win. You’ll need to sign an agreement that you won’t hold the company liable for Robert’s actions as an employee, and then the money is yours. It will cover your entire master’s program tuition, plus a stipend toward textbooks and other supplies.”

Neal stared at her in surprise.

“Take it, kiddo,” Henry advised. “It will make Robert too angry for words.”

“His money going to tuition for me.” Neal had to smile. “For a degree in art. After he conned me into using my art skills to forge those bonds and then blackmailed me over it. It’s like the best punishment ever.” Neal had to laugh. “It’s perfect.”

“You should take it,” Peter urged. “No one can say you didn’t earn the money. And it would set my mind at ease to know you aren’t chasing after some insane or risky scheme to get that kind of cash.”

“You know, when we ran into each other in St. Louis, I thought I was embarking on a self-directed master’s program, studying to become a renaissance criminal. Less than eight months later… Who’d have believed I’d wind up working for the FBI and going to grad school?” He looked at Peter. “I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. You really think I can do this?”

“I know you can,” Peter said.

“It’s definitely going to be all you,” Henry added. “I can impersonate you as a singer, but no way could I cover an art class.” Then he paused. “Well, maybe if it was a lecture…”

“No,” Neal insisted. “I’m not having you jeopardize my GPA.”

And with that, everyone was laughing and hugging Neal, congratulating him and assuring him that he’d take Columbia by storm. “I’m so proud of you,” Noelle whispered. Hearing those words in a voice that matched his mother’s choked him up. Fortunately the briefing was temporarily suspended for a series of toasts: to Neal for getting into Columbia, to Columbia for being wise enough to recognize his talents, to Noelle for convincing the Win-Win board to be altruistic, and to Peter for recruiting Neal and setting him on his current path.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“What happened next?” El asked over dinner. Peter had brought home takeout and was catching her up on what had been a truly eventful day.

Peter paused to drink some water before he answered. He was trying to hide the fact that Neal’s accepting the scholarship and the subsequent toasts had left a lump in his throat again as he described it.

El didn’t seem to be fooled, however, as she demonstrated by leaning over and kissing him. “You’re a good man, Peter Burke.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, after we got through the mushy stuff, it was time to show that I’m a good agent. I outlined a plan for the FBI to issue a statement that Robert Winslow is wanted for a series of crimes, most recently kidnapping. His accomplice has been arrested and isn’t being named because he’s cooperating with the investigators. However, we will splash the names and photos of the kidnapping victims that we rescued.”

“As much as Henry and Angela have been traveling and performing recently, they’re bound to be recognized as Urban Legend.”

“Right. Angela agreed to come back to New York tomorrow. She and Henry will be on hand to welcome home their grandfather, the retired ambassador being credited with significant contributions to the recent peace accord negotiated in Geneva. It will be an international story. Someone in _The New York Times_ owes Neal a favor that he’s gonna call in. We’re guaranteed press for Urban Legend that will make Masterson Music pay attention.”

“The group’s website will be swarmed by people who want to hear their music.”

“You got it. Neal and Henry called Theo Guy and Miranda Garza to line up performances which will be listed on the site. We expect the venues will be packed.”

“Won’t Masterson be scared off by the fact that Neal works for the Bureau?” El wondered.

“They aren’t going to find out. At first, Neal won’t be performing, adding to the curiosity about who he is and what happened to him. That keeps Urban Legend in the news even longer. People may speculate about the cousin named _Neal_ who disappeared at the age of three, but Henry will say they never saw him again, and of course neither Henry nor Angela used their real first names. We’re going to claim Neal Legend is one of the distant cousins who grew up in those Caffrey caravans. He took the name _Neal_ in honor of the real Neal who dropped out of their lives so long ago.”

“You know…” El paused and started over. “I realize you don’t like to involve FBI spouses in cases, especially me. I understand,” she added before Peter could interrupt. “It’s distracting and potentially compromises the agent emotionally, but I have a couple of ideas that would be perfectly safe. First, you remember Lisa, one of my college roommates? She works for a major radio station in Boston and is already a fan of Urban Legend. If I told her that I know them, I’m sure she’d want to arrange an interview with them for her station. She could provide fantastic promotion if they have a performance in Boston.”

Peter grabbed a sheet of paper and started writing it down. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we need. What’s your other idea?”

“When Neal re-joins Urban Legend, it should be a big event. And I happen to run an event planning business.”

He turned that around in his head, and didn’t see anything inherently dangerous about it. “The Bureau won’t have much of a budget,” he warned.

“Perhaps not, but the exposure would be invaluable to a new business like mine.”

Satchmo interrupted their discussion to remind them that he needed a walk. El took him out while Peter called Neal to let him know about Lisa.

“Great,” said Neal. “We’ve got a lead on a group scheduled to perform in Boston on Friday who lost their opening act.”

“You and Henry having any conflict over who’s in charge?”

“Not yet. So far we’ve been in agreement on almost everything. I thought it would help if it’s clear that he’s still the leader of Urban Legend, so I’m careful not to challenge him on that. He picks the songs and has final say on performances. I’m the liaison to the FBI, which puts me in charge of the case. At least, that’s the theory.”

“And I’m the business manager,” Peter added. “I noticed how hesitant you were about that. You know, I do have a master’s degree in accounting, and in the end this case is gonna come down to contracts and money. The lawyers and accountants are the ones who will figure out how Masterson Music is bending the law and taking advantage of performers.”

“They’re only taking advantage of the performers they want to drive out of the business. I’m worried about how this is going to play out if Urban Legend is signed because we’re expected to be a big success. How will we get the evidence we need?”

“I guarantee you that Masterson isn’t cheating just some musicians. What Julia Winslow uncovered goes across the board. They’re underreporting international revenue, and underpaying their artists for sales of albums overseas. And that may be just the tip of the iceberg. I talked to Julia this afternoon and she has some theories that I’ve got Tricia looking into.”

“Welcome to the crew,” Neal said. “You’re right. We’ve been too focused on getting Masterson’s attention to think through how we’d catch him in a crime. None of us are experts in law and accounting. Now we’ve got accounting covered. Do you think we can bring an attorney with us when Masterson offers us a contract? Maybe Mrs. Hughes, since she’s an expert in that area of the law?”

“Good instinct, but Ilsa Hughes is well-known in the music industry. You want to bring in someone who seems non-threatening, but who can meet with Ilsa in advance for prep.”

“Yvette,” said Neal. “Miranda’s daughter is in her last year of law school. She told me she wanted to help if she could. She’s eager to prove she’s over her crush on Henry. She’s young enough that Masterson would assume his lawyers would eat her alive. She’s persistent enough to learn everything she can from Ilsa and apply it once we’re inside Masterson’s office.”

“Anvil-girl?” Peter remembered Neal’s story about the girl who’d crushed him when she used him as a substitute for Henry.

“That’s right. Don’t worry, Peter. We got over the initial awkwardness when I was in Austin. And I’m focused on Sara, now.”

Peter withheld judgment on that. It still sounded awkward, but a law expert they could trust and who would be unknown and unintimidating to Masterson sounded perfect. “See if she’s willing to help and free to travel when the time comes. We could always use Jones.”

“Yeah, not picturing Harvard-Law Jones as someone who’d be willing to work for a bunch of amateur musicians. He’d go for the big-money clients.”

Peter chuckled at the thought of Jones trying to play down his legal chops.

“Mozzie’s back, by the way. As Urban Legend’s agent, he wants to meet with you and coordinate on some of the plans.”

Peter stopped chuckling. He hadn’t considered that the group’s agent and business manager needed to work closely. “This will be interesting.”

“He confirmed that Robert’s plane went down on the intended island, and a distress call was placed. The Coast Guard will send a boat to pick them up, but it’s several days’ travel out there from the nearest port. The pilot confirmed they have about ten days’ provisions, so the rescue mission is going to wait out a particularly nasty storm in the north Pacific.”

“I’ll talk to Agent Yoshida in Seattle. He’ll monitor their progress and let us know when Robert’s about to return to the mainland. We’ll coordinate on the precautions to take, and I’ll try to be there in person when Robert arrives if I can.”

Neal didn’t have to say he wanted to be there, too. That would be an argument for another day.

Instead Peter took the conversation in another direction. “I heard Noelle saying she was proud of you. I hope you know I am, too.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Not just for getting into Columbia. I’m also proud at how mature you were when Henry and Angela were missing. Up until the last minute, you didn’t run off on your own. You kept engaged with the case, making good arguments and working to get evidence of what really happened to them. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you that I recognize the level of trust you showed in disclosing the Legend identities. I know it wasn’t easy for you. Has Henry given you a hard time about it?”

“Not yet, but I’m getting the impression that in the future he may be more secretive, rather than risk that I’ll share what I know with you, and then have you share it with the Bureau.”

“Being shut out like that, it’s gonna hurt,” Peter said.

“Yeah. But it’s worth it to have him here, safe. We barely got to them before Jason Ford was going to give him that dose of heroin.” He cleared his throat. “I called Tricia to ask her about what she learned from Ford, and she told me an analysis of the syringe showed there was enough to be lethal if Henry didn’t get to the hospital right away.”

Peter nodded. That revelation had been enough to break Ford. He was providing a wealth of information to the Bureau now. “Everyone talks about how much you and Henry have in common. You both want to save the world, or at least feel a huge sense of responsibility for the well-being of everyone you care about. But in the last few days we’ve seen a big difference. In my opinion, you’re more mature than he has been recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when the chips were down, you came to me, told me about Urban Legend, and asked for help. I don’t think Henry’s able to accept help, or to accept that he needs help.”

“Funny you should mention that. Noelle and I are conspiring with Graham to keep on his case about getting therapy. Graham said he might make it a condition for going back to work at Win-Win.”

“Oh that sounds familiar,” said Peter. “When your flashbacks were getting bad I gave you a similar ultimatum as I recall. Start therapy in order to stay at the FBI.”

“He’s got a lot to work through,” Neal said. “More than he’s told us about, I’m sure. Hopefully things won’t get as bad for him as they did for me before he gets serious about seeking help.”

Peter agreed and ended the call as El and Satchmo returned. El carried a long, narrow, heavy box that she handed to Peter. “It was on the front stoop,” she said.

It carried a label from a local courier service, and the return address was a liquor store. When they opened the box, they saw it held a bottle of Scotch.

Puzzled, they looked for a gift card. Peter finally found it in the shredded paper that served as packaging around the bottle. The card said: _Burke, Keep away from my son. I won’t be shooting blanks. RW._

“It’s from Robert Winslow,” Peter said, recognizing the brand of Scotch that he’d been carrying when he’d played a drunk and angry Robert at the airstrip to get Henry and Neal away from their captors. Somehow Robert knew all of the details, including the fact that Peter had pretended to shoot Henry.

Robert had talked about that incident to Travis. During interrogation, Ford had also mentioned that Robert seemed obsessed with Peter, angry that someone had impersonated him. Robert hated the idea of being replaced, both in his job at Win-Win, and in his role of Henry’s father.

Peter pulled out his cell phone to call Jones and Travis, instructing them to talk to the courier, and see if Robert had sent anyone else a surprise. Then Peter called Hughes to arrange for an agent to guard Elizabeth. Robert and Ford hadn’t mentioned Robert’s obsession extending to El, but he wasn’t going to take any chances with her safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sting/con lines come from the “Burke’s Seven” episode. 
> 
> Neal’s flashbacks and the rescue on the airstrip are from the story Caffrey Flashback. The masters in being a renaissance criminal and the arrest of Roland Villiers are from the first story in this series: Caffrey Conversation. My thanks to Silbrith who thought to take Neal down a different degree path starting in her first story in this AU: Complications. Additional thanks to Silbrith for creating the character of Agent Travis Miller and letting me borrow him.
> 
> The tuition solution was hinted at during Neal’s birthday party in Flashback, when Graham said, “I promise, there will be justice. Noelle tells me she already has some ideas about how we can make things up to you. I have a feeling the next Win-Win board meeting is going to be a doozy.”
> 
> Originally the question of how Neal pays his tuition was to be resolved in the final chapters of this story. But I realized I had all the players together in New York in this chapter and no reason anymore for them to avoid talking about it. Instead, in the final chapters we’ll learn the answer to another mystery: why Neal was born in Baltimore. Silbrith made a good point that it makes sense to share that answer in a story called Disclosure.
> 
> The final chapter of Silbrith’s Evening with Genji was posted a couple of days ago. It’s a fun pre-Christmas romp with an interesting case and a little H/C. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!


	34. The Crew

**Pierre Hotel.  Thursday morning.  July 15, 2004.**

Edmund and Irene Caffrey arrived in New York very early in the morning, and checked into the Pierre Hotel again.  Noelle, Henry, Angela and Neal gave them time to rest before joining them for brunch in their hotel room.  Then they brought Dor and Dressa up to speed on the kidnapping, although they had all agreed on the elevator ride up that they would skim over some of the more distressing elements.  Then they moved on to an overview of Urban Legend and the Masterson Music case.

“The public knows about all of this?” Edmund asked.

“A lot of it,” Neal said.  “Late yesterday afternoon the FBI held a press conference in D.C., where they announced that Robert Winslow is a wanted fugitive, and they described the kidnapping as an example of his crimes.  Reporters asked why the kidnapping wasn’t announced right away, and the FBI spokeswoman explained the fears it might have been politically motivated to influence you, and that it was kept quiet until we knew for sure.”

“And the Urban Legend piece?”

“That wasn’t announced by the FBI, but with photos of Henry and Angela being splashed around in the press release and subsequent news stories it didn’t take long for music fans to recognize them.  The rumors that they’re Shawn and Grace Legend were already appearing on sites first thing this morning, and we’re actively spreading the word online.  In addition, _The New York Times_ is going to interview them after an Urban Legend performance this evening.”

“And when the press convenes on this suite to ask me about my perspective of the events in Switzerland and about the kidnapping, am I supposed to tell them I condone the involvement of my grandchildren in this Urban Legend?”

“Yes,” said Neal.

“No,” said Henry.

They swapped looks.  “Both,” said Neal.  “We don’t want to do anything to hurt your reputation, in fact we want to ride on your coattails to some extent.  So it’s best if you come across as sympathetic.”

“But be honest about the fact you don’t approve of us taking this from a hobby to a potential career,” Henry added.  “For the sting to work, Masterson needs to know we don’t have your money or backing.  He could be afraid to approach us if he thinks you’ll supply top-notch attorneys to review our contract.”

Edmund nodded and continued asking questions of Henry and Angela. 

Irene pulled Neal aside and said, “He’s making sure they’re all right.  He worried about them.  He doesn’t want to make a fuss, but he won’t let them stop talking until he’s accepted that they’re safe and well.”

Neal nodded in understanding. 

“There’s some coffee and biscotti on the buffet,” Irene told him.  “We could beat them to it and have a chat of our own.”

“Lead on.”

When they had cups of coffee and the plate of biscotti in front of them, Irene kicked off the chat with, “Is art what you truly want to study at Columbia?  Don’t let Edmund discourage you if music is your passion.”

Neal swallowed a bite of biscotti.  “No, it’s art that’s in my soul.  But Angela’s another matter.”

Irene slid a glance toward her granddaughter and then returned her attention to Neal.  “Majoring in music, minoring in business.  It wasn’t simply to annoy her pushy grandfather?”

“No, I don’t think so.  She’s the most talented of the three of us.  Sometimes she collaborates with Miranda Garza – she’s a professional songwriter – on the piano or keyboard parts of songs.  And Julliard is interested in her.”

“Hmmm.”  Irene took another sip of coffee as she considered that news.  “I wonder what Columbia’s music program is like these days.  We might win Edmund over if she pursued a master’s degree in music there.”

“His alma mater,” Neal agreed.

“Yes, and he’d like knowing you’re there to keep an eye on her.  He’d worry about the other music students leading her astray.”

Neal picked up another biscotti but paused when Noelle walked up and asked, “What are you two conspiring about?” she asked them.

They looked at each other and then looked blankly at Noelle.  She laughed.  “Oh, such a picture of innocence you are.  You both gave me the same look on the last Christmas Neal spent with us, when I found you in the kitchen eating the cookies Meredith had just iced and had told everyone not to eat until the icing set.”

“That was an innocent misunderstanding,” Irene said loftily.  “We were checking to see if they had set.”

Neal grinned.  He was coming to understand what Noelle had said about the special bond Irene had developed with him as the grandchild who had lived closest to her.  He didn’t remember sneaking cookies with her as a child, but it certainly felt natural now.

Noelle laid a hand on Neal’s shoulder.  “You’ll need to leave soon.  We expect Tom Brokaw and his crew to arrive in the next half hour to set up.”

“Tom Brokaw?” Neal asked.  “Really?  This is mostly a fluff piece, right?  All the official political announcements happened in Geneva.”

“Oh, we met Tom in 1989,” Irene said.  “Edmund had spent part of his military career in Germany, and he wanted to see the Berlin Wall come down.  We stayed at the same hotel as the American press.  We still meet Tom for dinner whenever we can, and swap stories.  It’s good for an ambassador to have a friend in the media, and vice versa I suppose.  He’s going to retire at the end of this year, and this is his last chance to finally get Edmund in front of the camera.  He interviewed us there in Berlin, you know, but that was the only time Edmund ever did a sit-down interview.  His only other television appearances were in press conferences, with the Secretary of State taking most of the attention.”

“I don’t suppose you saw the Berlin interview,” Noelle said.  “You would have been very young to have much interest in the news back then.”

Neal shook his head.  “I don’t think I watched the interview, but Mom did.  I remember the fall of the Berlin Wall as the time she wouldn’t let me change the channel to watch something else.  I never understood why she found it so fascinating.”

“Oh, my,” said Irene, her eyes wide.  “It might have been the only time she saw her father after the Marshals took you away from us.  I should have encouraged him to do more interviews.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Not wanting to be identified yet as the third member of Urban Legend, Neal left before the news crew arrived, and stopped by Theo Guy’s studio.  He was glad to see Samantha Weston had started working there part time, and she led him to a space where he could watch the session Theo was recording.  It was for Cassie Blanca again, the songwriter who had needed him in the role of keyboardist a few weeks ago.  The cast had been removed from her arm, and she was playing the drums.  Interesting.  Urban Legend needed a drummer.

He considered ducking out of sight when the session was finished.  Last time he’d halfway convinced Cassie he was a ghost.  But he decided it was time to bring her into his crew officially.  He hung out in the hall where Cassie couldn’t avoid seeing him, and her reaction was as shocked and boisterous as he expected from the redhead.

“You!” she said, gaping at first.  “It’s you!  You’re real.”  She latched onto his arm.  “Really real.  My God, the rabbit hole I went down looking into Urban Legend and trying to find out what happened to you.  Are you _that_ Neal Legend?  There are finally pictures being posted and it sure looked like you, but some people said it must have been my imagination.  And now you’re here again!”  She practically dragged him into Theo’s office.  Theo, of course, followed, with Sam trailing behind.

Theo glanced at his calendar as he sat at his desk.  “I didn’t have you scheduled for a session today, did I?”

Neal sat down and gestured for Sam and Cassie to do the same.  “No, I dropped by hoping you’d have a minute.  I need to talk to you – all three of you if you can stay– about Masterson Music.”

Cassie and Sam frowned at the name.  “I told you, don’t get involved with them,” Cassie warned.

Sam looked puzzled.  “Shawn told you my history with them, and I know he’s heard many similar stories.  I can’t believe you’d want to work with them.  What’s this really about?”

Theo remained quiet, his expression a mix of anger and resignation.  Neal was certain the man had a past with Masterson, but didn’t know what it could be.  When Theo performed with the chart-topping rock group Local Devastation, it had been before Masterson Music existed. 

“I am _that_ Neal Legend, Cassie.  I want to take you into my confidence to explain what’s going on and get your help.  But first I need your promise that what I tell you won’t leave this room.  No posting it online or sharing the information in any way at all.  OK?”  He looked around the room at Cassie, Sam and Theo for their responses.

They all agreed, with Cassie adding, “Just tell us already.”

“I left Urban Legend a few years ago but recently I’ve been working with Shawn and Grace…  Well, you’ve seen the news, right?  I’ve been working with Henry Winslow and Angela Caffrey as part of my new job.  At the end of last year I was hired by the FBI, and I’ve convinced them to investigate Masterson’s business practices.  Part of the plan is to get a lot of attention for Urban Legend, enough to convince Masterson to offer us a contract.  I’ve already got experts pouring over Masterson’s publicly-filed financial statements, and we’re working with a legal team who’ll go over the contract to look for anything suspicious.  Once we gather enough evidence, we can obtain search warrants and get access to all their records to find evidence of accounting fraud and other illegal business practices.  Finally all the singers and musicians who couldn’t take on a behemoth like Masterson Music will get justice.”

“What do you need from us?” asked Sam.

“Whatever it is, sign me up,” Cassie added.

“The more evidence we can get, the better.  I’d like to have you make an official statement to the Bureau as part of our case file, describing your experiences with Masterson.  I’d also like names of others with similar experiences who might be willing to testify once we make an arrest.”  He paused to take in their reactions.  He knew they still felt like David going after Goliath, but they were nodding.  “Once we get a contract, it may take a few days – maybe even weeks – to gather all the evidence we need.  We’ll probably need to start recording an album, and we could use people we trust to act as backup singers and we could really use a drummer.  Sam, Cassie, since you’re already under contract to Masterson, they should be fine with us using you in our sessions.  Theo, I’d like to use your studio, if you don’t mind.  And more than that, I’d like to know why you look so worried.  What’s your connection with Masterson?”

“Can I see your FBI ID?” Theo asked.  He waited to look at Neal’s consultant badge, with the girls peering at the badge with unabashed curiosity.

“Neal Caffrey,” Cassie said.  “So you are related to the members of the band?”

“Yeah, I am.”  Neal paused.  “Theo, anything else you need?  We can call my supervisor, or even talk at the Bureau if you prefer.”

Theo huffed out a humorless laugh.  “No, the last thing I want is to be seen entering the FBI offices.  But maybe…  You’re a consultant?  Is there an agent in charge of the case?”

“Sure.  The case agent is my boss at the White Collar Crimes Unit.  He’s also an accounting expert who’ll go undercover as Urban Legend’s business manager.  You want to talk to him?”

“It wouldn’t happen to be Agent Peter Burke, would it?”

“Yeah.  How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.  He called me a couple weeks ago, and I never got back to him.  I’ve been too scared of Masterson to take the chance.”  He leaned forward, elbows on his desk.  “Opening this studio was my dream, and the thought of losing it kept me from speaking up.  But the thought of taking Masterson down, of having a real shot at it, I can’t pass that up.  I’d like to go ahead and make an official statement, provide whatever records you need.  Can the agent come here and, well, not look like an FBI agent?”

“I can get him here,” Neal promised.  “No FBI vehicles, no flashing his badge, I promise.  I can even ask him to change into something more casual than his usual Brooks Brothers suit if you want.”

Theo sighed in relief.  “Yes, thanks.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

After Neal called, Peter left his office, heading toward the stairs.  There was a locker room adjoining the restrooms, where the team kept extra clothing for a quick change if they needed to go undercover without much warning.  He could easily trade his jacket, dress shirt and tie for a polo-style shirt El said didn’t look too out of place with suit pants. 

At the top of the stairs, he paused.  Ideally he’d take someone with him to help.  They’d want to record Theo Guy’s statement and start going through whatever records he had.  Since Neal said the man was scared of Masterson, it would help to show the FBI was taking this seriously enough to send two agents.  He looked down at the bullpen, wondering who would be best for this assignment.

Jones looked up and noticed Peter’s scrutiny.  “Looking for something, boss?”

Several others from the bullpen looked up.  Peter decided to make it a general question.  “Who on the team looks least like an FBI agent?”

Collins raised a hand and said, “Umm, Agent Miller?  When he’s in the van, anyway.”

Of course.  Travis had a reputation for showing up in the van in jeans and a T-shirt, especially in summer.  Sometimes he didn’t bother to shave if he was going to spend all day outside the office.  “Good answer,” Peter said.  “Thanks, Collins.”  He returned to his office to look up where the van was located today.  Not all that far from Theo Guy’s business.  He called Travis and, confirming there hadn’t been much activity from the suspect he’d been assigned to watch today, sent him to the studio.  Then he asked Collins to take his place in the van for a couple of hours.

At the studio, Neal introduced Peter and Travis to Theo Guy, Samantha Weston and Cassie Blanca.  “They’re all part of the… the sting,” Neal added.  Peter smiled.  Neal still thought of it as a con, but he was making an effort to treat it as a case.

Theo’s office couldn’t hold so many people, and they congregated in a kitchen area instead.  It seemed to be some kind of breakroom for the musicians who came to the studio.  Theo gave permission to record his statement.  Then they heard a story of how Masterson Music had approached Theo to “certify” his studio as being of high enough quality to be used for recordings for artists under contract to Masterson.  It had started as a simple inspection of the studio’s equipment and a glance at the financials to be assured the studio was viable enough to stay in business.  The Masterson representatives said they didn’t want to bother establishing a relationship with a business that couldn’t stay afloat, and Theo had shown them his profit-loss statement and earnings projections to prove his business was stable.

What followed was a classic extortion scheme, with the victim so unprepared for such a thing that he didn’t realize what was going on until it was too late.  “It started with a certification fee,” Theo said.  “They hadn’t mentioned it when they were here, but sent a bill a month later saying it was a minor fee to cover their recordkeeping.  It was tiny at first, maybe ten dollars a month.  But it kept going up.  They said it was because they were sending more business my way.  Getting their business had been great, and I didn’t want to complain when things were going so well, so I kept paying.  But now it’s to the point that I barely make enough after paying their fee to pay my other bills.  I asked them to get rid of the fee or at least reduce it, since I’d proven I was a good and steady partner, but they refused.  They said I had to pay or they’d refuse to let anyone they have under contract do business with me.  They told me they had relationships with suppliers, and I could find it hard to get any parts or repairs for my equipment if I made a big deal out of paying the fee.  And they implied that my business might suffer an accident – a fire maybe – if I tried to shift more of my business to independent artists or musicians under other labels.”

“They used that review of your financials to see how much you could afford to pay without going under,” Peter explained.  “They want you to stay in business, otherwise they don’t make any money from you.”

“I spoke with the owners of other studios, casually, to see if the same thing happened to them.  They wouldn’t talk about the fees, but several said they were also ‘certified’ with Masterson.  And at least one of them told the company I was asking around.  I got a visit from a scary dude a few months ago who said I needed to shut up.  He made it clear that I’d regret it if I talked to the cops or any other legal authorities about this certification program.”

Theo didn’t have much in the way of physical evidence, other than his bank statement showing the checks he’d written to Masterson Music.  Theo had a copier in his office and Peter sent Travis to make copies of those bank statements.  Peter made a list of the people Theo had spoken with at the other recording studios, and the names of the people Masterson had sent to talk to him.  “I’ll run names to see if any of them have a criminal record,” Peter promised. 

Neal started leading a discussion with Theo, Sam and Cassie about how to get Masterson interested in Urban Legend, and Peter excused himself to check on Travis.  It shouldn’t take that long to make the copies.  Maybe the copier was malfunctioning.

He found Travis standing at the copier.  The originals and copies were in neat piles of equal height, so the job appeared to be done.  But his stance was unusually tense.  “What’s up?” Peter asked casually, trying to ease into the question of what was wrong.

Travis took a deep breath and asked without turning around, “We’re not really doing much on the Robert Winslow case for a while, right?

“That’s right.  Jones is adding the evidence we gathered at Enscombe to the file, so we can get a conviction on the kidnapping, but there isn’t much else going on until the Coast Guard retrieves him.”

Travis turned around.  His normally thoughtful expression was more fierce than Peter had ever seen from him.  “Please put me on this case, Peter.  This is why I joined the FBI, to fight the bullies of the world.  These people have to be stopped.”

Peter nodded.  “When Neal first told me about them, I had no idea how corrupt they were.  I’m sure we’ll throw a lot of resources at going through their files once we get a warrant.”  Looking at Travis’ face he added, “But you want something more than that.  OK.  How about this?  Neal has a plan to get invited into Masterson’s offices.  We won’t have much time, and I suspect they won’t let us take any contracts or other paperwork out with us, because they know their terms are too predatory to be legal.  We need a device we can take with us to scan copies of documents, and it has to be small and inconspicuous enough that it won’t make anyone suspicious.  That could be crucial to gathering the evidence we need to get a warrant and make an arrest.”

“Thank you,” Travis said.  “I can put that together for you.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Neal accepted Peter’s offer of a ride back to the Federal Building.

“I have to ask,” Peter said as he pulled away from the curb and floored it into the afternoon traffic, “why bring me in?  I know you could have convinced Theo to tell you everything.”

“And I’d planned to do as much as I could without FBI support, yeah.  But you’re part of the crew now, and this is your area of expertise.”

“Speaking of the crew, is there anyone else I haven’t met?”

“Well, other than Yvette as our lawyer, I think that’s it.  June’s part of it, too.  Did you know Byron was a musician?  June sang with his group in some of the top New York clubs, back in the 60s.”

Peter checked his mirror and executed a lane change that had Neal holding on for dear life.  “Wait.  Byron Ellington.  Any relation to Duke Ellington?”

“So the story goes.  June said she can get us some famous jazz musicians if we really start to record an album.  With Cassie on drums, if we can get a few horn players we’ll be set.  Miranda has songs she’ll let us record, so we’ll have a full band and original music.”

“Theo Guy have any other suggestions for you?” Peter asked.  He signaled for a left turn and Neal closed his eyes rather than watch as the oncoming traffic closed in on them. 

“You realize most people actually slow down going into turns?”  Neal opened his eyes again.  “Theo was so grateful he had several fantastic ideas.  He’ll need to run it by his old band members, but if they go for it, Henry’s going to be so excited he won’t be able to sit still.  He’ll be jumping all around June’s music room when I tell him.”

“This sounds promising.”

“The Local Devastation reunion concert is coming up later this month.”

Peter looked at Neal in surprise.

“Eyes on the road!” Neal insisted.

Looking forward again Peter said, “That’s the benefit concert to raise money for drug rehab programs, right?”

“Yeah.  He’s gonna see if Urban Legend can perform a song with Local Devastation at that concert.  And he’ll ask if one or more of them would be willing to be featured in a song on our album.  He even said he’d ask if Michael Darling has a song we can use.  There’s a possibility…”  Neal trailed off, feeling dazed.  “Michael wrote a Christmas rock ballad that’s amazing.  I saw the sheet music when I met him in St. Louis last December, and had a chance to play it through on piano.  I remember thinking it would go to the top of the charts at the holiday season if someone recorded it.  I asked Theo…  Well, he’s gonna see if Michael would let us record it as a single.”

Peter chuckled as he pulled into the Federal Building parking garage.

“What?”

“I was thinking about how you said Henry would react.  Do you want to jump around the parking garage before we head inside?”

Neal realized he was grinning and couldn’t stop if he tried.  “Thanks for the offer, but we don’t have that much time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Silbrith for suggesting the Pierre Hotel as a location, and for all the editing and research she does behind the scenes. We’re a couple of weeks away from the debut of her next story in this AU. 
> 
> Some of you may remember I originally described Cassie Blanca as a keyboardist and now she’s on drums; that’s in honor of my cousin who wanted to play the drums and was told first he had to learn to play the piano so he could get used to reading music and following a beat; unfortunately an accident took his life before he could move on to the drums, but Cassie plays them in his honor. 
> 
> Response to Travis in the last couple of chapters was so positive that I slipped him into this one as a gift to the readers who have become his fans. I’d already planned to use him in this case, so you’ll see more of his talents with electronics coming up.
> 
> The band Local Devastation and Michael Darling’s Christmas song were introduced way back in the story Choirboy Caffrey.


	35. Warm Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning if you’re sensitive to stories about cancer, you may want to skip Neal’s conversation with Donna.

**June’s mansion.  Thursday evening.  July 15, 2004.**

Neal could claim that he was too mature and busy to jump for joy at the thought of Urban Legend performing with his teenage idols, but Peter noticed a certain spring in his step all afternoon.

He was admittedly curious to see Henry’s reaction to the news, and accepted an invitation to go to June’s mansion that evening for the big reveal.  Elizabeth was invited to join him, and in addition to June and the three members of Urban Legend, Graham, Noelle, Edmund and Irene were also there. 

Everyone arrived at different times, and June’s chef had set up a buffet where they could all graze while they waited.  Ostensibly they had gathered to watch the interview with Tom Brokaw, which June had recorded.  Peter’s puzzle-solving mind was at work, because he’d never seen a TV in the mansion other than the one in Neal’s loft, and it would be tight for everyone to fit in there.  El had mentioned on the drive over from Brooklyn that a big screen TV simply didn’t fit the décor of the historic building, and they followed with eagerness as June led everyone to the basement.  “Originally the mansion had a set of no-frills accommodations for the staff,” she explained on the walk, “but nowadays they all have their own homes.  Byron converted the space into a theater-style media room a few years ago.”

Settled into the rows of plush, reclining seats, with popcorn in hand, everyone watched the interview.  First Tom asked the ambassador and his wife about their experiences in Switzerland with the peace talks, and then he brought up the kidnapping.  They expressed their horror and fear at what had happened, and their heart-felt relief that Henry and Angela were safe.  Tom offered his condolences on the recent anniversary of Angela’s father’s death, and her voice was soft and broken as she thanked him. 

“The attention that came from your kidnapping ordeal led to a secret being uncovered: You’re Shawn and Grace Legend of the musical group Urban Legend,” Tom said.

“Maybe it was for the best,” Henry responded.  “We’d kept it a secret because we knew our grandparents wouldn’t approve, but we’ve reached a crossroads.  Either we make our performances a hobby and pursue other careers, or we take the leap and go pro.  If that’s what we want, the time for secrets is past.”

“I understand the group had broken up a few weeks ago.”

Henry nodded, looking serious.  “I’ll take the blame for that.  There’s a lot of pressure that comes with being a musician, and I let it get to me.  I’ve had time to clear my head now, and I’ve apologized to Angela for my rant.”

“Nothing like being kidnapped to help you get your priorities straight,” Angela added.  “We should have talked things through right away instead of letting our anger at each other fester.  That’s a lesson we won’t forget.”

The interview wrapped up with Edmund and Irene again.  Irene mentioned her early career in movies, especially Hollywood musicals.  “It was fun, and I hope Henry and Angela enjoy their path as much as I did.  I came from a family of bankers and brokers who were baffled by the direction I took, but I’m glad I followed my dreams.  I cherish the independence I gained at a time when most girls grew up expecting to be housewives, and of course I wouldn’t have been on the USO tour where I met my dear Edmund if I hadn’t decided to become an actress.”

Edmund added, “Independence is key.  Irene made her own way, based on her talents.  She didn’t ask her family to support her in something they didn’t entirely approve.  Henry and Angela are free to try anything they want, with my blessing, but they need to succeed or fail on their own merits.”  Tom commented on Edmund’s attitude in a time when controlling stage parents were gaining notoriety.  Edmund described his upbringing in a family of itinerant musicians.  “It can be a hardscrabble life.  Anyone who wants to make a living at music needs to understand and accept that.  My grandchildren have made it clear they won’t ask for my help in this endeavor, and I respect them all the more for it.”

After the interview ended, June paused the recording, and Neal stepped to the front of the room.  He described what they’d learned from Theo Guy that afternoon, which had been a huge step forward in proving Masterson Music was guilty of a crime.  Graham was particularly interested in that angle, asking questions that made it clear he was gathering information for his mathematician wife to analyze.  Then Neal mentioned the possibility of collaborating with Local Devastation. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, and Peter watched Henry and Angela.  Their eyes grew so big with wonder, it was like seeing young children meeting Santa Claus.  Oddly, a change came over Henry moments later.  He grew serious and impatient, standing up to say, “Enough loafing around.  If we’re supposed to measure up to one of the most famous and awarded rock bands of the mid ‘90s, we need to practice.  Get to the music room, now!”

June and the “grownups” followed at a more leisurely pace, and settled in chairs around the room with glasses of wine while the kids got to work.  Henry had them warm up with simple Christmas tunes, and Neal mentioned in an aside to their audience that the practice had come from Miranda, who loved carols and appreciated simplicity for a warm-up piece.  “She’d have us play and sing the most basic versions of those songs – ‘no trills or frills,’ she called it.  Then she let us move on to more complex stuff.”

Peter explained to El that they might record a Christmas tune Michael Darling had written, another reason for them to start with a holiday theme.

“It’s odd to hear in July,” she said, “but I suppose all those Christmas albums you see in December are actually recorded in the summer to be ready for a holiday release.”

Henry was a taskmaster, keeping the practice at an unrelenting pace and not being shy about pointing out when any of them – even himself – failed to live up to his standards.  After Henry made a particularly sharp comment when Angela apparently made a mistake at the piano, Edmund looked ready to intervene, but Noelle put a hand on her father’s arm and shook her head.  “Watch,” she mouthed.

Peter followed the direction of her gaze.  Neal had put down his guitar and stepped between his cousins.  “Back off,” he told Henry.  “Remember what yesterday was?  The one year anniversary of David’s death?  You’re being a jerk, giving her Shawn the perfectionist when she needs Henry, her friend.”

And with that the intense, picky leader of Urban Legend relaxed slightly into the more laid-back Henry.  These performances during their travels, Peter realized, had contributed to Neal’s expertise at undercover work.  He and Henry had years of practice slipping into other identities in front of increasingly large audiences. 

June walked over to ask what Angela would like to drink.  Henry crouched beside the piano bench, speaking softly with an expression of contrition, and although he could have escaped, he stayed in place when she reached over to muss his hair.  Then they both stood and he hugged her briefly before she settled in a chair and accepted a glass of sparkling water from June, who sat beside her.

Peter stopped watching Angela when Neal sat beside him and said, “Henry in Shawn mode is talented but not particularly kind.  I’m sure Angela’s used to it, but she needs a softer touch tonight.”

“The irony,” Noelle added, “is that while Robert would not be pleased to see Henry as a musician, this no-nonsense Shawn persona is closer to his ideal of a son.”

“As Shawn, he used to push me by talking about how this little girl Angela was better at the piano than I was.  And she’s told me he did the same when she joined the group, telling her that she didn’t yet measure up to the cousin she’d replaced.”

“You all have a competitive spirit,” Noelle said.  “And some jealousy.  Angela was jealous of how Henry grew up in one town, while he was jealous of the fact that she spent her youth at Air Force bases all around the world.”

“And they’re still friends,” Elizabeth added. 

Noelle nodded.  “And each learning to appreciate that the other’s life wasn’t perfect.”  Then she turned her attention to Neal.  “You’re a gifted performer.  Mother says it’s all from her, while of course Dad claims the Caffrey genes are at work.”

“Maybe they’ll go on tour with us?” Neal suggested with a glint in his eye.

“Oh no, boyo,” Edmund said.  “You won’t tempt me.  That’s a young man’s game, and one I’m glad to be free of.”

“But Dressa will run away with me?”

“Weeellll…” Irene started, and then kissed her husband’s cheek to dissolve his frown.  “Not tonight.  It’s been a long day.  We should get back to our hotel.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Graham also decided it was time to retire, and while Henry said goodnight to them, Neal checked in on Angela.  She was smiling, but with tears in her eyes, and beside her June had a similar look of sadness and joy.  He approached with caution, not wanting to tip the balance toward tears.

“You look as wary as if we were tigers,” June said.  “You don’t have anything to be afraid of.  I was telling Angela about how you sang at Byron’s funeral, and she told me about the song she played for her father’s.”

Neal nodded.  Noelle had helped him when he got choked up, and he’d heard how Henry had done the same for Angela at David’s funeral.

“I picked one of Dad’s favorite hymns,” Angela said.  “The Christmas music we started with tonight made me sad because Dad’s favorite song of all was ‘Ave Maria.’  The only reason I didn’t chose that for his funeral was that it was summer and I associate the song with the holidays.”

June looked wistful.  “I remember Byron playing it on his trumpet.  I’m sure I’ll be crying when I hear that song again.”

Angela sniffled.  “Me, too.”

“Do you know the words, Neal?”

He nodded.  “Yeah, but –”

“You should sing it,” June interrupted.

“Now?  But you said it’ll make you cry,” he protested.

“We need a good cry,” she insisted.  “Go on, then.”

Neal walked over to confer with Henry, who then glanced at June and Angela and shrugged.  “I’m sure Angela’s tired of hearing my voice right now.  I’ll take piano,” he said, and led the way.  Since he greatly preferred playing guitar or singing, it was a sign of how much he regretted pushing her too hard tonight.

Neal took the vocals and accepted some very watery hugs when he was done.  Noelle was also crying, which he could understand because David had been her brother, but he was surprised to see Elizabeth’s eyes shining.

“Sympathetic tears,” she explained after she hugged Neal.  “And sorrow that I’ll never get to meet David or Byron.”  Then she leaned against Peter a moment.  “I suppose we’d better get home.  I’m worn out, and Satchmo probably needs a walk before we turn in.”

“It was a moving performance,” Noelle said, with an arm around Angela.  

Angela reached up to kiss Neal’s cheek, and then Henry’s.  “You did good.  Both of you.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Friday Peter brought Tricia fully into the Masterson case.  He explained that he wanted someone on point in the office when he went undercover.  Neal brought her up to speed on Masterson Music, Urban Legend and their goals for the sting.  Then he showed her the Urban Legend website, where she saw their agent’s name.

“Is this Louis Renault a real person?” Tricia asked, referring to the alias Mozz had chosen for the Masterson con.  It might be a sting for the FBI, but it was definitely still a con from Mozzie’s perspective.

“Yeah,” Neal said.  “He’s a friend, and he volunteered to act as our agent.  He’s, umm, well let’s call him a genius at certain shady online activities.”

“A hacker,” Tricia said.

“A hacker,” Neal acknowledged.  “He also has a deep distrust of large corporations, so he’s thrilled to take part in our scheme against Masterson.”

“People with a distrust of large corporations usually aren’t fans of big government agencies, either.”

“Very true.  He’ll need to coordinate with Peter at some point, but it hasn’t been easy convincing him to work with the FBI.  Right now he’s focusing on another part of our plan.  He’d uncovered activities by key employees that Masterson managed to keep quiet over the last few years, and he’s working with a contact in a national news outlet to bring it all to light.  DUIs, assault, domestic violence, even someone using the company’s distribution channels to sell child porn.  It’s all coming back to haunt them over the weekend in an article about corporate responsibility, using Masterson as an example of companies that turn a blind eye to their employees’ crimes.  It should leave them scrambling for positive press, such as an announcement that they’ve signed Urban Legend.”

“Your friend needs to be careful,” Tricia warned.  “Issuing libelous statements could work against us.”

“He’s not above libel if it suits his needs, but it’s not necessary.  Those were all actual charges made against Masterson employees.  Some went to trial, others settled out of court, but there’s abundant evidence.”

Tricia coordinated an effort by everyone in the bullpen to aid in the campaign to raise awareness and interest in Urban Legend.  They each were assigned sites Mozzie had initially targeted.  Using non-Bureau credentials they posted comments about the group.  She also suggested that Diana Berrigan could help, and the D.C.-based agent not only agreed to participate but also offered to continue the posting campaign over the weekend.

Neal led a similar effort with his crew.  He contacted Theo, Cassie, Sam, and then Miranda Garza and the Hunters in Austin, all of whom said they would help.  He also convinced Graham Winslow to involve the considerable Win-Win employee base in the effort, while Angela connected with friends from the University of Washington music program. 

Even Elizabeth Burke got involved, and Neal thanked her in person that evening.  Peter had invited him over to the townhouse for dinner and continued scheming.  After dinner and a conversation about Urban Legend – El had lots of questions about how the group had formed and why – she tuned in to the Boston station where her friend worked so they could hear the interview with Angela and Henry.

A DJ named Donna congratulated them on the performance they’d just wrapped up as the opening act to a big-name pop group.  She touched on the earlier interview by Tom Brokaw, the kidnapping, and the fact that they’d recently repaired the split in their group.

“That’s why we performed ‘The Scientist’ this evening,” Angela said.  “It was a reminder to ourselves and to others whose partnerships hit rocky times that things aren’t always easy.”

“But this wasn’t the first time the group had a split, was it?  Neal Legend left a few years ago.  There seems to be a lot of confusion about the circumstances and his current status.  Some even say he isn’t a real person.  That is, Shawn and Neal Legend are both performed by you, Henry.  But a recent analysis of a recording featuring both of you came back with 87% certainty that it was two different voices.”

“Yeah, Neal was fortunate enough to inherit the same great vocal chords that I did.  Too bad he’s not as good looking, but we can’t all be perfect, right?”

Donna laughed.  “But that recording was several years old.  Is Neal still performing?”

“I’ll be honest,” Henry said.  “Some of Neal Legend’s performances recently have really been me, but not all of them.  In fact, the last few weeks I’ve been surprised to hear that Shawn Legend put in performances in places I hadn’t been.  I gotta think Neal is out there tweaking us, and I’d love to bring him back into the group.”

“People have had a hard time telling the two of you apart.  You aren’t brothers, are you?” the DJ asked.

“Nope, I’m an only child.  He’s one of the multitude of Caffrey cousins out there.  My grandfather has many siblings who have many kids and grandkids.  I was lucky to connect with Neal.  We’d met as very young kids, and then again when I was twenty.  Working together as the original Urban Legend we got to be best friends, right up until the split.”

“He isn’t the cousin Neal Bennett, son of your mother’s twin sister?”

“We picked the name _Neal_ in his honor.  The original cousin Neal and his mom dropped out of our lives a long time ago, and we hope someday we’ll be reunited with him.  But the fact is, he was so young when he left he probably doesn’t remember us.  We’re pretty sure his mom changed their names, so he wouldn’t necessarily realize that we’re related.”

“Why did Neal leave Urban Legend in the first place?  Wait, sorry, time for a commercial break.  Stay with us, everyone, as we continue our conversation with the members of Urban Legend.”

Neal picked up the landline.  “Do you mind?  I’d rather they not have my cell phone number, just in case.”

“Then an FBI agent’s home phone probably isn’t much better,” Elizabeth said.  She reached into her purse and grabbed her cell phone.  “Try this one.”

“I don’t suppose you rehearsed this?” Peter asked as Neal dialed the radio station.

Neal gave them his best _trust me_ grin.  “No, but he’s baiting me, and it’s better if we don’t sound rehearsed.  Don’t worry.  We agreed on the basic story a long time ago.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

While Neal spoke to someone at the radio station, the commercials ended. “We’re back,” Donna announced. 

This was all too impromptu for Peter’s taste.  It was one thing to let Henry take the lead where the group Urban Legend was involved, but unfortunately he seemed to think that meant leaving everyone else in the dark.  “Henry Winslow, the person most of us know as singer and guitarist Shawn Legend, was about to tell us why Neal Legend left the group.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” interjected Angela, who instantly won Peter’s approval.  “We should respect his privacy.”

Henry started to argue but was interrupted by Donna.  “We weren’t going to take calls until the end of the interview, but my producer tells me we have someone claiming to be Neal Legend on the line.  Can the two of you confirm it’s him?”

Neal motioned for El to turn off the radio so there wouldn’t be any feedback, and he put the phone on speaker.  They heard Henry say, “Hey, kiddo, is that really you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.  The guy I talked to said he’d line up a song.  I told him there’s one you can’t help dancing too, no matter when or where you hear it.”

Angela squealed in anticipation as Henry said, “No, not –” and they heard the opening strains of “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred.  Angela and Donna whistled.

“OK, listeners, you’re missing out on quite a show here in the booth.  Fortunately Brad our producer brought in a camera and we’ll post photos online later tonight.  Neal, are you still there?”

“I’m here.  Henry told me that when his parents were getting divorced in ’92, one night his mom was really sad and he turned on the radio looking for a song to cheer her up, because they both loved music.  When that song came on, it was the first time either of them had heard it.  He told me he made up some crazy dance that had them laughing so hard they just collapsed on the floor at the end of the song.  He said each time they tried to talk they started laughing again.”

“Seems to be a family ailment,” Donna said, and they could hear Angela giggling in the background.

“I’m sorry,” Angela said between bouts of laughter.  “But I mean… _Henry_ …  I just can’t think of him as sexy, you know, and that dance.  God, he was such a dork when he was 16.”

“For the record,” Donna said, “those of us who aren’t his cousins could think of Henry as sexy now, but yes, that was the kind of incredibly dorky dance you would expect of a 16-year-old.”

Neal smiled in satisfaction and Peter suspected that of all the stories he could have told to “prove” his identity, he’d picked this one to make Angela laugh.

“In my defense,” Henry said, “I do have better moves than that when I’m on stage.”

“I can testify to that,” Donna said.  “It was a slick performance.  Neal, thanks so much for that story.  Would you be willing to tell us another story, one about your departure from Urban Legend in 2001?”

Neal sat down at the dining room table.  “It started with some headaches…” he began and spun a story about learning he had the early stages of brain cancer.

It was so convincing that El looked at Peter with concern, but he shook his head.  This was all a con, and Neal was proving that he was a master at cons.

Henry was credited with convincing Neal to see a doctor, and then Neal described the struggle of trying to perform as treatments left him increasingly sick and weak. 

“I couldn’t stand it,” Henry said.  “I was afraid he’d skimp on the treatments because he thought he was letting me down, and I finally kicked him out of Urban Legend so he’d stay home and focus on his recovery.  I wanted him to have privacy, and when telling people he was sick didn’t stave off the questions and curiosity about him, I started saying that he’d died.”

“He didn’t give me any advance warning,” Neal said.  “I took it hard, thought it meant he wanted a permanent break.” 

“I overreacted,” Henry said.  “Neal was my best friend, almost a brother, and I was so scared at the idea of him dying that I actually pushed him away.  I took my anger at the cancer and the doctors and everything related to it, and embraced it so I wouldn’t show my fear.”

“It was convincing,” Neal said.  “I honestly thought you didn’t want to see me again.  But it pushed me into doing everything I could to recover, to prove that I was stronger than you thought.  I kept practicing, telling myself someday I’d make a comeback and show you.  I was angry at first, but the more I faced my own anger and fears, the more I understood your reaction.  I mean, I still wanted to show that I’m as talented as you are…”

“That’s why you impersonated me,” Henry said.  “To prove you’re strong enough and good enough to convince people you’re Shawn Legend.”

“Rumor has it that Neal Legend was one of the performers in Ty Merchant’s upcoming solo album,” Donna said.  “Which one of you was that?”

“It was me,” Neal said.  “I did Michael Darling a favor last year and he repaid it by inviting me to sit in when Ty recorded some of Michael’s songs a few months ago.  Meeting three of the members of Local Devastation was a dream come true.  It’s still hard to believe they actually used some of my singing in the final version for a couple of the songs.”

“Word is that you donated the paycheck to a cancer research society,” Donna added.

“It felt right,” Neal said.

“Any chance of a reunion?” Donna asked.  “There’s been a lot of speculation this summer about what Urban Legend would sound like with all three of you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Neal.  Peter was surprised.  Wasn’t that the goal?  “I had a chance to catch a couple of performances with Angela as Grace Legend.  She’s better than I ever was.  Anyway, I’m not looking to go pro.  I set a goal for myself, something to push me through my recovery, and I met it.  Now that Henry and Angela have patched up their differences, I should move on with my life.”

“Are you kidding?” asked Angela.  “You can’t let Henry have all the fun.  I want a chance to perform with you, too.”

“Tell you what,” said Neal.  “I’ve moved to New York to start graduate school.  If you have something lined up nearby, maybe I’ll drop in for a couple of songs.” 

Neal wouldn’t commit to more, despite pleading and wheedling from his cousins and the DJ.  When he ended the call, Donna took a break to play some of Urban Legend’s performances, thanks to the recordings Miranda Garza had provided.  When Donna invited the general public to call in, a common theme emerged.  The majority wanted to hear all three cousins perform together and insisted that Neal reconsider his refusal to rejoin the group.

Neal leaned back in his chair and smirked.  “Always leave them wanting more.”

Henry delivered the coup de grace by announcing that Urban Legend had a performance planned in New York City on Saturday night.  “You hear that, Neal?” he said.  “You better be there.”

Shortly after the interview ended, El’s friend at the radio station called with thanks for the help arranging the interview and then raved about how well it had gone.  “We have a sister station in Manhattan,” Lisa said.  “I’m going to move heaven and earth to get the rights to broadcast tomorrow night’s Urban Legend performance live, and Henry and Angela said they’d be open to another post-performance interview.  If Neal Legend actually shows up, this could be huge.”

El winked at Neal.  “I have a really good feeling about that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope no one out there thinks I’m making light of cancer with the cover story Henry and Neal made up. It’s mostly wishful thinking on my part to include a success story against the disease that took my mother’s life.
> 
> If you’re following the Penna Nomen Disclosure board on Pinterest, the pins for this chapter are the songs that were mentioned. And yes, the actor we envision as Henry does some dancing in the “I’m Too Sexy” video.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading. I’ll post the next chapter next weekend. Of course Neal will be at the Urban Legend concert, and Peter will finally get to see Urban Legend perform to a crowd. Many thanks to Silbrith for her talents as a location scout; she found a great location for that concert while also editing this chapter.


	36. Urban Legend

**Beacon Theater, Manhattan.  Saturday afternoon.  July 17, 2004.**

Peter had told himself he’d stay away from the theater until Urban Legend’s performance that night.  No need to hang around like an anxious parent before his son’s debut in the school play.

He’d spent much of the morning on the phone with Julia Winslow, absorbing what she’d learned and suspected about Masterson Music.  It had been fun, talking to someone who spoke accounting and loved numbers.  Her insights had been so exciting that Peter wanted to tell someone.  Sending an email to Agent Tricia Wiese didn’t cut it.  El was at the theater, and Peter thought he could catch her for a late lunch to share his news. 

Burke Premiere Events would be hosting a party backstage after the concert late tonight.  Many reporters and members of the music industry had asked Mozzie – the group’s agent – for an opportunity to meet the band, and El was working some kind of magic to make it happen.  When Peter arrived, Graham Winslow was conferring with a man they introduced as Randy Weston.  Randy apparently owned a music store that hosted live events with cocktails and had a good relationship with the bar next to his shop.  Peter recognized the name of the bar; it had shown up in a report Jones had filed back in February, when they’d been worried about Neal.  One evening Neal had gone to that bar and performed.  Hearing the name again now was a reminder to Peter that while the Masterson case seemed new and rushed from his perspective, for Neal and Henry this had been the result of months, even years of planning.

Randy Weston was pulling strings with the bar to have drinks and a bartender at the theater tonight.  It sounded like the music store and bar would cover some of the costs in return for the publicity they would get.  Graham seemed to be footing the rest of the bill.  When he noticed Peter, he took him aside to describe the arrangements, including an offer from June to have her chef spend the day preparing finger foods that would be appropriate for the event.

“I half expected you to be home in Baltimore by now,” Peter said when Graham finished.

“So did I.  I’m probably too old for a rock concert, but…  I suppose you could say I’m making up for lost opportunities.  This is a big night for my grandson, and it reminds me that I missed another big night.  Henry was in a play in high school, you know.  I’d planned to be there, but a crisis came up at Win-Win.  Looking back, I suppose Robert engineered the crisis.  But the fact is, neither of us were there on a big night for the boy, and I decided it was time to make up for that.  Show him I support him.”

Peter nodded.  Knowing that Neal hadn’t had a father present for similar events in his youth made Peter even more determined to be here for tonight’s concert.

From everything he’d heard, El would be too busy preparing for this event to listen to him describe what he’d learned from Julia.  Well, Graham would probably be interested.

“Hell of a thing about Masterson, isn’t it?” Graham said.  “Julia filled me in first thing this morning.”

So much for that idea.  It looked like the drive out here had been a wasted trip.  There wasn’t anything he could do to help set up for the concert, and Neal would certainly be too busy to talk.  In fact, he didn’t even see the kid anywhere.

“Checking up on us?” came a familiar voice from behind him.

Peter turned around to see Neal grinning at him.

“Checking up on El, actually, but seeing what you’re up to is a bonus.”

“Let me give you the tour,” Neal offered, and it was hard to tell who was prouder: Neal showing off to his father figure, or Peter taking in what Neal was accomplishing here.  Sound equipment and instruments were in place.  Someone in a control booth was configuring the lights.  Henry was leading Angela and other musicians through a set list.

“The drummer looks kinda familiar,” Peter said.

“That’s Trevor Merchant, from Local Devastation.  Ty Merchant, the lead singer who’s going solo these days, is his brother.  Including Trevor tonight is the first step toward announcing a collaboration with his old band.”  Neal paused.  “It’s less impressive than it sounds.  Trevor’s a publicity hound.  In fact, he’s more into notoriety than he is into music.  It’s an even trade.  We get a drummer, and he gets a lot of attention tonight when he hints that we’ll make an appearance at their reunion concert.  He’ll probably take credit for the idea, but that’s OK.”

“Didn’t you line up a drummer already?  Cassie, right?”

“That’s right, but under her contract with Masterson she can’t be paid for a performance they don’t produce, and union rules are pretty strict about paying musicians.  We’ll bring her and Samantha Weston into the mix once the company makes us an offer.”

That was Peter’s cue.  “Speaking of Masterson…”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

“Piracy?” Neal interrupted in the middle of Peter’s explanation.  There’d been a fog of accounting lingo but in the midst of it one concept shone out like a beacon. 

Thankfully, Peter dropped most of the jargon.  “That’s right.  Most music companies take a loss – especially overseas – because of pirated copies of CDs.  You see the same thing with software companies.  They write it off on their taxes and occasionally take steps to make piracy a little harder.”

“Like making CDs or music files harder to copy.”

“Those are the typical measures.  The thing is, Masterson writes off the same loss every quarter.  It looks like they calculated an industry average percent of revenue lost to piracy, and apply that percentage as a reasonable number no one would question.”

“But the percentage should differ, at least a little, from quarter to quarter,” Neal guessed.

“That’s what tipped Julia off.  She kept digging through other reports.  It seems the company’s international sales team can’t help bragging about their revenues even if they have to be hazy about the exact source.  That led her to discover partnerships with companies that no one else in the music industry uses.  Some of those companies have had run-ins with the FBI.  Based on everything she found, we’re in agreement.  The most likely explanation is that Masterson Music formed a partnership with one of the largest music piracy groups.  They’re getting a cut of the profits, but of course they aren’t reporting it, and aren’t paying taxes on it.”

“And they aren’t sharing those profits with the musicians signed to their label.  Instead they claim the international revenues are mostly lost to piracy, and they keep all the money.”

Peter nodded.  “This is good news.  If Julia’s right, we’re finding evidence of multiple crimes.  First the unfair contracts that you made us aware of, then the extortion Theo Guy described, and now piracy and tax fraud.  That’ll make it easier to get warrants and eventually a conviction when the time comes.”

Neal glanced toward the group that was getting ready to rehearse their first song.  Henry would want to be updated on the case, while Shawn wouldn’t want any distractions.  Right now Shawn would win, he decided.  This concert was an important step in the sting, anyway.  Best to stay focused on that aspect.

“Do you need to join them?” Peter asked.

“Not yet.  Most of the songs are just Shawn and Grace Legend.  I’ll join them at the end.”  He thought about those songs and asked, “Are you going to be here, for the concert?”

Peter looked surprised.  “Of course.  I wouldn’t miss it.  That is…  Did you not want me here?”

He looked a little hurt, and Neal shook his head.  “No, it’s not that.  The first song we all perform together, though…  I don’t want you to worry when you hear it.  It’s a Linkin Park song, ‘Easier to Run’ and –”

“You’re right, I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It’s in the context of admitting that we’ve taken the easy way out, running from our troubles rather than sticking around to patch up our differences.  That’s what we’ll explain.  It’s not that we’re advocating running away.”

With that, Peter seemed mollified.  “How’s Henry doing?”

“He’s in his element,” Neal said.  “He’s brilliant at this stuff.  It’s a bit bigger than our usual concerts, but then we’ve opened for big-name groups so we’ve performed in much larger arenas.  The Beacon only seats around 3000.  Honestly at first I worried if we could fill it on our own, but the online campaign and news coverage have been phenomenal.  Last night’s radio interview has been shared with other stations – I even heard clips this morning when we drove over here.  Mozzie tells me we’re already sold out and there has been so much demand for tickets that he’s negotiating with the theater to see if we could do a repeat performance tomorrow night.”

Peter looked around.  “I was surprised not to see him here.  Is he hiding in the wings or in the control room with the lighting techs?”

“He knew you’d be here, and Graham.  It’s hard to say whether the FBI or Win-Win make him more nervous.  Either way, he isn’t comfortable making an appearance.”

Peter mulled that over.  “On the one hand, it’s something of a relief not to have a wild card like him around.  On the other hand, he can’t be part of this sting and avoid the FBI forever.  Like you said, your agent and business manager need to coordinate.”

“I’m working on that.  Would you be able to go into the office tomorrow?  I thought a Sunday, when the Federal Building’s mostly empty, would be my best shot at convincing him to go to the Bureau.”

“Anytime.  Once I fill Hughes in on the piracy element, I expect this case to become my top priority.”

That surprised Neal.  “More important than the Robert Winslow case?”

“Agent Yoshida in Seattle is taking the lead on that.  Now that we know where he is, it’s simply a matter of taking him into custody.  They’ll keep us in the loop, but there’s not much for us to do now that Jones has documented all of our findings for the case file.”  He must have seen Neal was about to protest.  “I know you want to be there for the actual arrest.”

“Nothing with Robert is simple.  The Seattle office doesn’t know him, Peter.  They haven’t seen what he’s capable of.  We need to be there.”

Elizabeth walked over before Peter could respond.  “I’ve been rushing around so much I didn’t see you arrive, hon,” she told her husband.  “The scope of the post-performance party keeps growing.  It’s going to be great for my new event-planning business, but I’m afraid our plans for this afternoon will have to wait.”

Peter accepted that calmly enough.  “Graham Winslow filled me in on some of it.  I’m not surprised.” 

The Burkes described how the party was evolving, and Neal was pleased to hear how many members of the press and music industry were expected to attend.  He’d promised Angela weeks ago that his version of the plan would move things along faster than Henry’s original plan, but even he was surprised at how quickly things were moving.  This was good.  The sooner they had a contract and gathered the evidence to make an arrest, the more likely that he’d be free to travel to Seattle when the Coast Guard brought Robert back.  He’d keep working on convincing Peter that they both needed to be there…  He brought his attention back to the present as Elizabeth said she needed to return to the party preparations.

When she left, Peter said, “Getting back to Henry, I wasn’t asking about how he was doing for the concert.  I meant in general.  The kidnapping, the stuff his father’s done, you don’t just bounce back from that.”

“He wants us to think it doesn’t bother him, but you’re right.  This morning I got up earlier than usual and found him in the music room.  He was singing a Linkin Park song.  Not the one we’re performing tonight, but one called ‘Numb’ – and I definitely had the sense he was directing it toward Robert.  He wants to feel numb about it all, but I don’t think he can.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah, once he reached the end of the song.  He tried to deflect, but I kept pushing.  He wasn’t ready to discuss Robert yet – not directly, anyway.  But he had some things to say about Ford, specifically what Robert wanted to accomplish by using him.”

“You think there was more to it than keeping track of Henry?”

“Robert’s obsessive, but he’s also smart.  Sending Jason Ford around the country each time they got a lead on Henry’s location was expensive.  It would have been easier to call a local PI wherever Henry popped up to look for him and track his movements.  The company has established relationships with investigators in cities around the world. Getting Win-Win to cover Ford’s travel expenses must have taken a lot of effort and involved the risk that someone would ask questions and find out what Robert was doing.”

“A local PI would have the advantage of knowing the area better, but Ford knew Henry better, especially as time went on.”

“Exactly.  We think it was also a training exercise.  By putting a tail on him whenever possible, Robert made sure Henry practiced skills he’d need at Win-Win.  Robert always intended to win points with Graham by bringing Henry back into the fold, and wanted to be certain Henry would perform well when that happened.”

“Something like our Tuesday Tails,” Peter commented, “but less friendly.”

“Very like Tuesday Tails, because it served as training for both parties.  The more we talked about it this morning, the more we thought Robert intended for Henry and Ford to view each other as adversaries.  Some people believe having a nemesis makes you sharper.”

Then Peter surprised Neal by saying, “Sometimes I’ve wondered, if things had gone differently – if we hadn’t run into each other in St. Louis and I hadn’t recruited you – would you have become my nemesis someday?  You doing your thing in New York, me as the head of the new Manhattan White Collar task force…  We’d have been butting heads regularly.”

Seven months after that encounter in St. Louis, it still sometimes felt like a dream to Neal.  He had moments when he worried that his new life and job at the FBI would fade away if he messed up.  That’s probably why he’d reacted so strongly to the accusation of being a teacher’s pet, and had intended to work independently on the Masterson case to prove he could do the job on his own.

But he realized now that one element of his new life felt set in cement.  He simply couldn’t imagine being Peter’s enemy.  His friendship, support and approval were all so important to Neal now that being an adversary felt unnatural.  Sure, they were both competitive men who would occasionally try to outsmart each other, but that was far from being a nemesis.  “Nah,” Neal said.  “I can’t see it.”

Peter clapped him on the back.  “I’m glad.  When I’ve tried to picture it, it’s been the stuff of nightmares.”  He waited a moment and then added, “And speaking of nightmare scenarios, I want you to promise me that you won’t blindly follow Henry right now.  I like him, but I don’t trust his judgment.  You’re much more level-headed than he is these days.”

Neal grinned.  “Wow.  A direct order not to do what Henry tells me when he goes all big-brother.  I like it.”

“I’m not kidding, Neal.  He almost got the two of you killed at the airstrip a few months back, and things have just gotten worse for him since then.”

“I’ll keep him focused on the music, as much as I can,” Neal promised.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

With the theater filled to capacity, seating had been added in the wings.  Stage right was for members of the press and the music industry.  Stage left was for family.  El darted in and out as she prepared for the press event, but Peter stayed glued to his seat with Neal’s grandparents and Graham and Noelle.  He’d been introduced to Paige Caffrey, a polite but rather vague woman who was Angela’s mother.  She’d flown up from D.C. this afternoon – piloting her own plane.  June was also seated with the family, and Peter learned she had arranged for some of the musicians and backup singers who were currently on stage. 

Theoretically, Peter was there in his undercover role as the band’s business manager, Peter Blaine.  A few songs into the concert, he needed to move to the other side of the stage and introduce himself to the business people and talent scouts.  But right now he was as nervous as any father seeing his kids go to bat in their first Little League game, and it wouldn’t be good to let the press see those nerves.

The drummer walked on stage first and addressed the crowd.  “Welcome to Urban Legend!  And let me tell you, this legend is real!  You’ve seen the stories, heard the interviews, and now you’re going to experience the band.  We’ve got a sold out crowd here, and a shout out to those of you listening to the live broadcast – you’re going to wish you’d gotten tickets!  We’ll be here again tomorrow night, so there’s still another chance to see us live.  Some of you may remember me from Local Devastation.  I’m Trevor Merchant…”  He waited for the cheers to die down.  “That’s right.  I’m sitting in with Urban Legend tonight, and I’m gonna make sure this isn’t the last time.  I’m not supposed to make the announcement yet, but let’s just say you really want to be at the Local Devastation reunion concert next weekend.”  More cheers, and someone yelled that they wanted Neal Legend.  Trevor chuckled.  “Right, the ghostly Neal Legend.  I’ve seen someone who resembles him backstage, and he’s in pretty good shape for a guy everyone said was dead.  Ghosts are kinda shy, but we’ll coax him on stage eventually.  After all, they keep telling me the best Urban Legends are ghost stories.”

With that all of the performers except Neal ran on stage.  Henry took the microphone.  “Thanks, Trevor!  I’m Shawn Legend, but pay attention.  You’ve probably heard how Neal likes to impersonate me.  He could slip in at any moment.  But you’re here for the music, so let’s get started!”

They launched into the first of several songs.  In a rare quiet moment a few songs in, Irene squeezed Edmund’s hand and said, “They’re mesmerizing.”

He squeezed back and said, “The voices are all Caffrey, but the electricity, that’s you.  It’s like seeing you in a movie or that USO tour all over again.  It takes my breath away.”

Graham looked rather distressed as he turned to Noelle.  “The whippersnapper’s such a good investigator.  Am I wrong to pull him into Win-Win when he has this?”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Noelle said.  “But I think solving mysteries is where his heart is.  Just think, he arranged all of this to bring down a corrupt executive.”

Peter made his move to the opposite side, meeting the people who could help with the Masterson case.  In addition to a bevy of entertainment reporters who were enjoying the concert and were eager to meet the Legends, there were scouts from a handful of record labels, including one from Masterson Music. 

After a few songs, Peter excused himself, saying he needed to check on the preparations for the press event and hoped to see all of them there after the concert.  In a dark hallway he almost bumped into Henry.  “Shouldn’t you be on stage?” he asked, surprised to see him, even though Angela was the lead in the current song. 

“Wish me luck,” Henry said.

Peter followed him toward the stage, and watched as one Shawn Legend stepped back into a dark area of the stage and swapped places with another.  It hadn’t been Henry backstage at all, but Neal preparing to impersonate him.  “It almost scares me how easily you switch places,” he admitted to the real Henry, who stood waiting with him in the wings.

“It’s hard to believe there used to be a time he was nervous about impersonating me.  Didn’t think he was good enough at guitar, and then later he was kinda intimidated at the idea of going to my classes at DePaul.  Now the tables are turning.  I’m not good enough to impersonate him.”

“You think he’s better at guitar?” Peter asked.  As astounded and proud as he was watching Neal take his place on the stage, he had to admit that Henry was in a class by himself when it came to playing the guitar and directing the band.

Henry chuckled, although he didn’t sound amused.  “No, not yet.  I mean the important stuff.  He’s got his shit together, and I’m falling apart at the seams.  Hell, I wouldn’t even be standing here tonight if he hadn’t come to the rescue at Enscombe.  I was useless, just like Dad always said.”

Shocked, Peter was still struggling for a response when Henry dashed back on stage. 

The song had come to an end and Henry yelled, “Hey!  I put down my guitar for a second to grab a break and you think you can just sneak in and pretend to be me?”  Neal handed the guitar to Henry amidst screams from the audience and picked up his own guitar.  Henry turned to the crowd.  “I gotta say, the ghost of Neal Legend is looking real to me.  Think we can convince him to stick around?” 

The crowd’s response was loud and positive.  Neal walked to the front of the stage.  “I haven’t had time to learn all of the group’s current set list, but there’s a song I’d like to dedicate to the amazing Grace Legend.  I want to make sure she and everyone else knows I’m not here to take her place.  No one could do that, not with the powerhouse talent she has.  This is a song Maroon 5 released this year, ‘She Will be Loved,’ because anyone who hears Grace’s voice will love her.”

Peter realized he was holding his breath as Neal launched into the song.  It seemed like the crowd was, too, curious to hear the mysterious third member of the group.  It went perfectly, and Peter couldn’t have been more proud as a boisterous round of applause followed the end of the song.

Angela thanked Neal and added, “I hear that song a lot from Shawn, actually.  The real Shawn.  We’ve done a lot of gigs at places that could barely pay a band, but Shawn’s happy just to get fed.  I can’t tell you how many times he’s told me about a performance he’s arranged and then followed up singing that tune with the lyrics, ‘There wiiillll be food, there will be foo-ooo-ood.’”

All three of them joined in the song Neal had mentioned earlier, about being easier to run.  Peter thanked his lucky stars the kid seemed settled down these days and not on the run anymore.  But there was always that flight instinct to worry about.

Then they ended with a song where Angela played piano and Neal and Henry sang about being brothers.  As with most of the songs tonight, Peter didn’t know it, but that was because they were using new material by Miranda Garza that hadn’t been recorded by big stars yet.  However, he was glad the concert was being recorded.  He wanted to listen to that last song again. 

Thinking like an FBI agent, he wanted to replay the concert for Tricia and the others involved in the case.  They should appreciate what an amazing job Neal and his cousins were doing.  The online campaign to grab attention had worked, but the talent of this trio would provide the final push to make Masterson offer a contract.  Neal had mentioned more than once that Henry emphasized not only singing the right notes, but also an entire performance designed to hold your interest and grab your emotions.  Seeing it in action, Peter had to agree that at least in this aspect of the case, Henry knew what he was doing.

But more than ever, he was worried about the kid.  During that brief exchange offstage, Henry in his Shawn persona had been much more abrupt and forthright than he normally was.  Did his family manage to catch him in those moments to hear how much the kidnapping had rattled him? 

An important question, but not one he could bring up in the room where the party was being held.  For one thing, it was so crowded they had to be pushing the legal limits imposed by the fire code.  For another, the Urban Legend parents and grandparents had left.  It was getting late, and they weren’t supposed to be seen as supporting the musical endeavors of their offspring.

Making the rounds at the party, Trevor Merchant told nearly everyone – in strict confidence – that a small record company based in Austin had approached Miranda Garza, asking her if Urban Legend would be willing to sign a contract.  Neal nodded when Peter mentioned it and he explained, “We made sure Trevor heard that rumor, once we realized he can’t keep a secret to save his life.  We’ll deny it, of course, but most people won’t believe us.  They’ll think we aren’t supposed to talk about the deal until it’s signed.  It’s one more step toward making Masterson want to act quickly.”

Sure enough, the rep from Masterson gave Peter his business card saying, “I hope you encourage the group to think big.  They could miss out on a lot of opportunities if they jump at the first offer they receive.”

Peter gave the rep one of his own Peter Blaine business cards and answered, “I’m a businessman.  I know these kids tend to think with their hearts, but they hired me to look after their interests.  I know larger companies are sometimes slower to act, but can be worth waiting for.  With their talent and my management, they can reach the top if they make the best possible deal.”

The Masterson rep agreed.  “I can tell we think alike, Peter.  Urban Legend has amazing potential in the right hands.  I’ve been monitoring them for a while, and I’d like to see what Masterson can do for them.  Tell you what, what’s your schedule like for later this week?  Let’s meet for drinks someplace a little quieter and talk things over.”

They made plans to meet on Wednesday.  After a few more conversations in his undercover identity, Peter managed to grab some of the food before it all disappeared.  Since he wasn’t Peter Burke here, he couldn’t hug El and tell her how great the party was, both from her perspective as an event planner and his as an agent.  But later at home they talked it over.

Sunday morning, while Peter wondered what to do about Henry, El brought up the more positive aspects of the performance.  “What I still can’t get over is how convincing Neal was as a rock star.  I always think of him as more quiet.  I guess I see him as an artist.  Last night I actually thought he could be a professional singer if that’s what he wanted.  And instead he’s an FBI consultant, helping you solve crimes.  Funny where life takes people, isn’t it?”

Peter nodded, distracted.  Her words sounded eerily familiar.

“Something wrong, hon?”

“You reminded me of a comment I heard last night.  Graham was worried that Henry might prefer to stay with Urban Legend instead of going back to Win-Win, once this is all over.”

“And now you’re wondering the same thing about Neal,” El guessed.

“In a sense.  He’s said more than once that his soul is in art rather than music.  Seeing him sing really brought home how important the art must be if it exceeds that.  And now I have the same concern as Graham.  Studying art might take him away from the FBI.  He has such a gift for what we do, El.  I’d hate to lose him.”

“You’d miss him,” she paraphrased.  “But you wouldn’t lose him, Peter.  Whether or not you work together, he’s always going to admire you, and you’re going to be close.  He already feels like family.”

Peter took comfort from her certainty, and then checked the time.  He needed to head to the office soon.   Neal had left a message confirming that Mozzie agreed to a meeting at the Federal Building today.  He debated whether to change out of his usual weekend casual attire.  Would jeans confound the guy who always called him a “suit”?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers: I’m not an expert in piracy or music. I rearranged the Beacon Theater for my purposes in this chapter. It was great fun to write a full chapter about Urban Legend performing, and to show much of it through Peter’s eyes. I hope you enjoyed it, too. There will be a few more performances before the story ends, but the focus will move back to the case.
> 
> See the Disclosure Pinterest board for pins of the song that inspired the “brothers” song Neal and Henry perform, and the other songs. In the next chapter Mozzie returns, with inspiration from the canon episode where he first visited the Federal Building to meet with Peter.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks to Silbrith for beta services and acting as location scout to suggest the Beacon. Make sure you check out her next story: The Dreamer. The first chapter was posted a few days ago. It’s set in this AU, about 6 months after this story.


	37. Casablanca

**Federal Building, Manhattan.  Sunday afternoon.  July 18, 2004.**

By the time Neal reached the Federal Building plaza with Mozzie, he was exhausted.  He understood that Mozz had a deep-seated fear of entering the lair of the suits, and he had spent the last hour assuring his friend that they would be safe.  Surveillance cameras could do their worst – in his Truman Capote look with trench coat, wide-brimmed hat and big sunglasses, Mozzie got a lot of puzzled glances but his only recognizable feature was his height.  And Neal was certain Mozzie was wearing some kind of platform shoes or heels so that even that aspect of his look was misleading. 

“Wait!” said Mozzie as Neal stepped onto the plaza.  He slipped on latex gloves.  “Fingerprints.”

“Good thinking,” said Neal, resisting the urge to check his watch.  He started walking again and breathed a sigh of relief when Mozzie followed.  “Remember, Peter’s our ally in this,” he added, and proceeded to remind Mozz about how Peter had been a rock for Neal in February.  That had been a dark month, with Byron’s death and funeral, the undercover assignment that had landed Neal on life support due to Robert’s involvement, followed by increasing flashbacks to childhood events Neal had tried to forget.  As they waited for the elevator Mozzie looked ready to dart away, and Neal talked about how Peter had used his vacation time to take Neal to the Burke family cabin to recover from everything that had happened in that month.  “Peter and his wife are like family, Mozz,” he said as the elevator opened.  “They know you’re my friend, and that means they’ll treat you well.”

Mozzie looked around the lobby one last time, and then stepped into the elevator.  He pressed and held the “open” button while he’d scrutinized the elevator car, pointing out the security camera and the emergency door in the ceiling.  Then he took a deep breath as he released the button and the doors closed. 

Neal pressed the button for the 21st floor.  By this time he’d used up his stories about Peter’s trustworthiness and had to move on.  “Did I tell you that one of the White Collar team is an avid _Star Trek_ fan?  When he was nervous about an undercover op, I suggested he treat it as an away team mission.  Turns out Spock is kind of a personal hero to him.  He even looks a little Vulcan, to be honest.”

For that Mozzie actually lowered his sunglasses slightly to look over the rims at Neal.  “You don’t suppose he’s actually…?  You know.”  He’d lowered his voice an octave, apparently concerned the security camera might record and digitize his voice.

They were treading a fine line here.  Mozzie’s love of _Star Trek_ was tied into his firm belief that alien life existed and had a habit of visiting Earth over the centuries.  It was an obsession second only to his belief that major governments had secret cloning labs.  Neal shook his head.  “I don’t think he’s an alien.  More like a kindred spirit.”  He hoped he hadn’t overplayed Travis’ interest in science fiction, because he suspected that if Mozzie ever met the agent, he’d quiz the man unmercifully about _Star Trek_ trivia.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened.  Neal stepped onto the 21st floor and strode forward purposefully, hoping Mozzie would follow automatically.  No such luck.  Mozz slowly shuffled off the elevator as he reviewed his surroundings, but then stood stock still in the elevator lobby, staring at the FBI logo etched on the glass doors leading to the bullpen.  It was hard to tell under the coat, scarf and hat, but it looked like Mozzie was breathing faster.  Sweating, too, but that was expected wearing all those layers in July.

Neal pulled out the piece of information he’d been holding onto as his final, irresistible lure.  “Remember seeing Tricia Wiese at Enscombe, when you were playing bartender?  She stayed outside most of the time, but came in to make the arrest.  Her cover as a birdwatcher wasn’t a lie, you know.  She describes herself as an avid birder.  She comes from a family of environmentalists and nature-lovers, and her summer vacation this year included taking her sons to see the puffins in Maine.  When we were preparing for the op at Enscombe she told me that she went up to Alaska as a volunteer after the Exxon Valdez spill to help with the cleanup efforts.”  He smiled winningly as he went in for the kill.  “Her involvement in protests against companies that cause excessive pollution and damage to the environment almost kept her out of the Bureau.  She’d been arrested in one of those protests when she was in college.  And of all the people Peter could have picked as his second-in-command, he chose Tricia.”

“That was fifteen years ago, you know,” Mozzie said, finally moving forward.  “The Valdez spill was in March of 1989, and it was a disaster whose repercussions are still being discovered.”  He gained momentum both in speaking and walking as he lectured Neal on the evils of big government and big oil.  He came to a stop in the center of the bullpen, looking around at the empty desks. 

Neal was pleased to see that no one had decided to come into the office today.  No extra suits to spook Mozz.  Only Peter was there, walking out of his office to look down at them from the glass half wall.  Since Neal was out of the stories he’d used like the Pied Piper of Hamlin to lure Mozzie forward, he took advantage of Mozzie’s back being turned to gesture for Peter to come downstairs.

“She isn’t here?” Mozzie said plaintively.

“Uh…” Neal took a moment to catch up.  Tricia.  They’d been talking about Tricia.  “No, not today, but she’s working on the case.  Bringing down an evil corporate giant like Masterson, how could she resist?”  Before Mozzie could ask him to tie Masterson to environmental causes, he said, “Peter, thanks for waiting for us.  It took us a little longer than we thought.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**     

As Peter approached, he could almost recognize Mozzie under all the clothing.  “There’s always paperwork to catch up on,” he said calmly.  “Thanks for coming to see me today.  I put a pot of coffee on when I arrived.  Care for a cup of Bureau brew?” 

“Please,” said Neal, so emphatically that Peter had to smile.  Neal wasn’t normally a fan of the coffee here, but it looked like bringing his friend to the office had been an ordeal that made any caffeine welcome now.

As he poured three identical cups of coffee, Peter was aware of intense scrutiny from Mozzie.  No sooner had he placed the mugs on a table than Mozzie rearranged them.  It was like watching the guys who set up tables in Central Park and dared you to guess which cup had the ball under it.  Mozzie was moving a bit slower than those guys, in deference to the hot liquid sloshing in these mugs, but the smooth motions showed him to be a veteran at the game.

“Which cup, Suit?” Mozzie asked.

Peter started to reach for a mug at random and then pulled his hand back.  “No suit today.  Just an ordinary guy in jeans.”

“Still carrying a badge,” Mozzie muttered.  “It projects the suit aura around you, no matter what you wear.”  He rearranged the mugs again.  “Pick one.”

“Neal, why don’t you pick for me?” Peter suggested.  “I’ll trust your judgment.”

Those words seemed to work some kind of magic.  Mozzie relaxed slightly and accepted the distribution of cups by Neal.  As they went up to the conference room and reviewed the data accumulated on Masterson so far, Peter took care to treat Neal as an equal partner.  Letting Neal do much of the talking seemed to help soothe the little guy.  Mozzie had taken care to sit on the side of the table that let him monitor the door into the room, and at first he was constantly looking up as if expecting someone to rush in and arrest him.  Peter didn’t know what Mozzie intended to do in such a circumstance, but was increasingly convinced that Neal had been right to arrange this meeting for a time when the office was empty.  The passage of time with no disruptions, combined with the reveal of interesting facts about Masterson Music worked to calm the little guy enough that he started opening up about his own plans for Urban Legend. 

Mozzie’s strategy for a combination of concerts, interviews and guest appearances was actually quite clever, ensuring Urban Legend would remain interesting and newsworthy.  He also outlined his approach for the group’s website, with a continuous stream of new material and a series of live chats with members of the group.  “Henry has a way with kids,” Mozzie said, “and he tells me Angela prefers folk songs to pop.  Tuesday afternoon they’ll perform at a local children’s hospital, performing mostly folk and kids’ music.  I’ve arranged a live stream to other children’s hospitals around the country.  We’ll have kid-friendly instruments at each location – whistles, recorders, xylophones, and the like – and will have times when the kids are invited to participate.”

Neal looked surprised.  “That’s great, Mozz.  Not what Urban Legend is known for, but it will be a welcome change for Henry and Angela.  Where’d you get the idea?”

By now Mozzie had removed the trench coat and sunglasses.  Even with the scarf partially obscuring his face, it was obvious he looked smug.  “You need to get back to your roots, Neal.  The Caffrey Caravan was filled with music.  Some of them crafted instruments that ranged from toys to sophisticated pieces that were works of art.  The children were encouraged to participate in the songs and were learning to sing and play instruments as soon as they could walk and talk.”

“It sounds magical,” Neal said.

“I’m glad you feel that way, because you’ll be joining the performance at the hospital.  Given your cover story of recovering from brain cancer, you need to show an interest in the terminal patients.”

Neal shook his head.  “It’s one thing to fool Masterson by playing the sympathy card.  I don’t want to con a bunch of little kids.  That’s not how I work.”

“You won’t have to con them,” Mozzie explained.  “I already told the hospital staff that you’re not comfortable talking about your ordeal yet.  All you have to do is sing to them and listen if they want to share some of their own stories.  I’m told that most of them would rather talk about something other than their reasons for being in the hospital.  They’re more likely to ask how you learned to play the guitar.”

“That I can handle, but what about the live streaming you mentioned?  How are we going to set that up without you?  None of us are computer experts.”

“Angela has the skills.”

“No.  I mean, yes, she probably does, but she’ll be busy setting up for the performance and singing.  She can’t be monitoring the computer to make sure the feed is working.”

“Why can’t Mozzie be there?” Peter asked, finally breaking into the conversation.

“At a hospital?” Mozzie nearly shrieked.  “Do you have any idea how many germs…?”  He shuddered and seemed incapable of continuing.

“Germophobe,” said Neal to Peter.  “It’s OK, Mozz.  We’ll figure something out.”

“Jones is a computer expert,” Peter offered.  “He talks about hanging out with his niece and nephew, so I assume a roomful of kids won’t scare him off.”

“Thanks, Peter.”  Neal didn’t draw things out after that.  Peter now knew the schedule Mozzie had put together as the group’s agent.  Mozz knew that Peter would meet with a rep from Masterson on Wednesday, as well as the litany of crimes they suspected the company of.  Neal definitely put a spin on that.  Mozzie didn’t care about the tax fraud, because he clearly viewed the IRS as an evil entity that deserved to be defrauded.  But he did care about the individual singers and musicians who received less than their fair share because Masterson lied about their revenues. 

When Peter described the possible piracy and mentioned the less-than-legit companies Masterson was suspected of working with, it was obvious that Mozzie recognized the names of some of those companies.  “I’ll look into them,” Mozz said.  “I have resources I can call on for this kind of thing.”

“Nothing illegal,” Peter warned.  “Any evidence obtained illegally could jeopardize our entire case.  We can’t let them walk on a technicality after coming this far.”

Mozzie grumbled at that, but muttered something about a snitch.  He also looked pointedly at his watch, reminding them that his role as Urban Legend’s agent left him with a long list of things he needed to get back to.

“I’ll walk you out,” Neal offered.  “Peter, are you heading home?”

That had been Peter’s hope, but he’d stick around if Neal wanted to talk.  “I’m not in a hurry.”

“Not a lot of cabs around here on a Sunday,” Neal said. 

“Need a ride home?” Peter asked.  When Neal nodded he said, “Give me a couple minutes to lock up the Masterson files and power down my computer.  I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

When Peter stepped off the elevator about five minutes later, Neal was alone, listening to an MP3 player.  He took out the ear buds when he saw Peter walk up and said, “Learning another song by Miranda.”

Peter nodded and glanced around the lobby.  “Mozzie didn’t want a ride?”  He’d assumed that Neal had asked for the ride as an excuse to talk without his friend, but wanted to be certain.

“He’s making his own very circuitous way.  My asking you for a ride assured him that you’d be heading to Riverside Drive and not trying to follow him to one of his safe houses.”

“One?”

Neal stood.  “He has three so far.  His goal is to have one for each day of the week, and constantly rotate among them.”

Peter led the way to where he’d parked.  “I gotta say, I think of you as an out-of-the-box thinker, but your friend is so far out of the box he’s in another zip code sometimes.”

“He’s different, but with good reason.  As a kid he found himself at the mercy of the system and learned firsthand how flawed it can be.  He may be paranoid and distrustful of the government agencies you take for granted, but you couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend,” Neal said somewhat defensively.

Peter unlocked the car but stayed standing, looking across the roof of the vehicle at the kid.  “I wasn’t criticizing him.  He takes a lot of getting used to, but I’m starting to appreciate what he brings to the table.  I just wish it wasn’t so hard getting him to the table.”

They opened the doors and took their places in the car.  “Me, too,” confided Neal.  “You needed to know what he had scheduled for us so far and to discuss the options going forward, and he needed to see what we have and what we’re looking for in this case.  You know that, I know that, and he does too.  But it was a major deal getting him here.  I hope next time will be easier, but I also hope I get a long break before the next time.”

As Peter pulled out of the parking garage, he turned the conversation in a direction he’d been fretting about.  “Is your aunt Noelle free this evening?”

“Trying to set her up with your brother?” Neal asked with a smile.  “It’s too late.  All the parents and grandparents are heading to their respective homes this afternoon.”

Peter had almost forgotten that his brother had hit a rough patch with Noelle on the Fourth of July.  He had asked about her schedule because he’d hoped to talk to her about what Henry had said offstage at the concert last night.  “All of them leaving so soon?  It’s only been a few days since your cousins were kidnapped.  I thought some of the older generation would hang around to keep an eye on them, especially after everything Henry went through.”

“They were tempted.  On the one hand, they want to be here for him.  On the other hand, he said having them looming over his shoulder and constantly asking if he wanted to talk was making it harder for him – said he felt like a ticking time bomb that everyone was tiptoeing around.  In the end they agreed that staying in New York would go counter to our claims that they aren’t supporting Urban Legend.”

Peter felt stymied.  His preference had been to put a bug in Noelle’s ear and then let her deal with her son.  Who better than a psychologist and a mother to help him with his issues?  If that wasn’t possible, all he knew to do was exactly what Henry apparently didn’t want: keeping watch and asking if he wanted to talk.  “You’ve got the concert tonight, and interviews Monday night.  Do the three of you have plans for Tuesday night?”

“Not that I know of.  What do you have in mind?”

“I thought we might give June and her chef a break, and have you over to my house for dinner.”

Neal smirked.  “Have you thought this through, or is this going to be like the time you invited Henry and me to stay the night without checking with Elizabeth first?”

Peter grimaced.  He knew El would be happy to have Urban Legend at their townhouse for an evening, but he had trouble keeping up with her work schedule.  For all he knew, Burke Premiere Events might have something planned for Tuesday, but he felt a responsibility to keep an eye on Henry.  If El was busy, he’d have to manage without her.  “Weather’s supposed to be decent.  I should get some use out of the grill.  How about a barbecue?  Both of your cousins like burgers?”

“Sounds good,” Neal said.  “I’ll check with them and let you know.  I think they’ll go for it.  A family barbecue could be just what we need.  We’ll miss the family gatherings now that everyone’s going home.”

Despite his worries, Peter had to smile.  Just four months ago Neal had been nearly overwhelmed when his family gathered to celebrate his birthday.  Now he’d grown accustomed to them.  FBI consultant, member of a family, soon to be a college student.  He was putting down roots.  There was nothing better to counter that flight instinct of his.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**     

Tuesday evening was indeed perfect for a barbecue.  The temperature was mild, with clouds to keep the setting sun from glaring in their eyes.  Peter manned the grill while El relaxed with their guests at the patio table.  Neal had brought a bottle of wine and had poured glasses for himself, El and Angela.  Peter and Henry had beers.

A call to his brother Joe Sunday night hadn’t helped much.  Joe had simply backed up what Peter had already suspected: his best approach was to keep an eye on Henry and to be there when the kid was finally ready to talk.

At the moment all three of the cousins were telling El stories about their concert at the hospital that afternoon. 

“So then Agent Jones put on the cowboy hat,” Angela was saying, “and Neal started singing ‘I Wanna Be a Cowboy’ while Henry got the kids into a line, holding hands and dancing around Jones.  The hospital had a photographer there and I’m sure a picture of that dance will be on the hospital’s website by tomorrow.”

“You’re comfortable around kids, aren’t you?” El asked Henry.  “That’s rather surprising for an only child.”

“It seemed like I was surrounded with kids growing up.  There were tons of Winslows around Baltimore, first cousins and the grandkids of Pops’ siblings.  There were just as many Winstons, and honestly half the time I couldn’t tell the Winstons and Winslows apart.  I was probably ten before I realized I wasn’t related to all of them.”

“The surprising part this afternoon,” Angela continued, “is that there wasn’t a round of the Hospital Game.  I was preparing my arguments for why they shouldn’t play hide-and-seek in the hospital, and didn’t have to use them.”

“We were setting a good example for the kids,” Henry said in superior tones, while Neal snorted.

“What’s the real story?” El asked.

“Yeah,” Angela added.  “Why does Neal keep laughing each time I ask about it?”

While Peter carried a platter of hamburgers to the table and everyone customized their burgers, Neal told El and Angela about Tuesday Tails, a tradition he’d established where White Collar agents refined their skills by trying to follow him over the lunch hour every Tuesday.  Today he’d upped the ante, challenging two agents to follow him.  What Travis and Collins didn’t realize was that Neal was also working with a partner.  Henry had dressed like Neal and was following a similar route.  The two agents were constantly catching glimpses of Neal in opposite directions and disagreeing about where they should go to catch him.

Henry was laughing now.  “I gotta implement something like that at Win-Win.  I haven’t had that much fun in ages.”

Angela looked carefully at both of her cousins.  “You both have found your calling, haven’t you?  You love this work – not just tailing people, but everything involved in solving crimes.  When this is all over with Masterson Music, Urban Legend will cease to exist and you’ll move on to stopping the next bad guy.”

Peter put down his burger, too invested in hearing the answer to concentrate on his meal.

“I don’t know if Urban Legend can cease to exist right away,” Neal said.  “If we sign a contract with Masterson, we may have legal obligations to the company that will take a while to fulfill.  But beyond that, yeah, singing will be a hobby.  Stopping bad guys is our vocation.”

Henry shrugged.

“C’mon, man,” Neal said.  “You didn’t get nearly as upset as either of us expected you would after I gave up our Legend aliases.  It’s because stopping Masterson is more important to you than keeping your own secrets, right?  Even if those secrets were painful.”

Henry picked up his beer bottle.  “It’s like they said in _Casablanca_.  The problems of three people don’t amount to a hill of beans compared to what’s going on around us.  Masterson has to be stopped.” 

“Sounds like a calling to me,” Angela said wistfully.

“Speaking of solving crimes,” said Peter, “I’d like to get both of you to stop by the office tomorrow morning.  I’m meeting with a Masterson rep in the afternoon, and I want to get your take on what I need to know about Urban Legend and the music industry.”

Angela looked intrigued at the idea of visiting the FBI.  Henry looked bored.  “Why not go over it tonight?” he asked.

“I want others on the team to hear this,” Peter said.  “Plus, it’s a tradition that in the Wednesday morning briefing we cover what we learned from Tuesday Tails.  Since you participated in an FBI training event, you need to be there.”

“Yeah, Henry, you should stick around after lunch for another training event.  Peter asked me to talk to the team about how to interact with teen runaways during a case.  I’m finally doing that in the afternoon.  You might have something to add.  Maybe you can help me roleplay some scenarios I planned to cover.”

“Sure, kiddo.  I can help with that.”  Henry put down his beer and faced Peter.  “Like Angela said in the concert Saturday night, we’re used to singing for our supper.  Is there a song you want to hear?”

Peter had a feeling Henry was deliberately turning the conversation away from the FBI and vocations, but he could be patient.  He’d find a time to talk to Henry alone tomorrow.  “El’s more of the music buff than I am.  Do you want a song, hon?”

Before she could answer, a flash of lightning was followed quickly by the boom of thunder.  “I think we’d better pick things up and move inside first,” she said.

Peter looked up to see the clouds above them had turned ominously dark.  He helped carry the plates inside.  Everyone had finished their burgers, so they took the dishes into the kitchen.  El pulled ice cream and toppings out of the fridge, and handed them to Neal and Henry.  She followed them into the dining room with fresh plates and spoons, and got them started on building banana splits.

Peter opened the dishwasher to find it was full of clean dishes, so he started to empty it while Angela rinsed off the dishes they’d brought inside.  “You don’t have to do that,” he protested.

“No, it’s fine,” Angela said.  “I can’t do a lot of things Henry and Neal are doing for the case.  It’s good to have something to keep me occupied.  Otherwise I’ll be depressed.”  Peter was about to say something about losing her father, but she continued, “I wish I had a vocation.”

“You’re still in college, aren’t you?”  Peter seemed to recall Neal saying Angela had a semester left before she graduated.

“Yeah, but the pressure’s on to either find a job or enroll in grad school.  I have no idea what I want to study, or what I want to do for a career.”

“People have been saying you could go pro, if you want.  You know, with the music.”

“I guess you could say I had an epiphany when we were waiting to be rescued at Enscombe.  I love music, but touring and performing for big crowds isn’t my passion.  It’s something I tolerate because it lets me be part of Urban Legend.  There’s the camaraderie with my cousins and other musicians, learning new songs and tweaking the arrangements…  Those I love.  Actually playing music, that’s something I need, but I’d be happy doing that alone in a room somewhere.”  She glanced at the dishwasher and, seeing it was empty, started placing dishes in the racks.  “I just don’t see how that adds up to a career.”

Neither did Peter.  “Have you talked to Henry about it?”

“He’s so laser-focused on Masterson these days, I don’t want to start a conversation that sounds like I want to leave the group.  He’s stressed enough.”

 _Good point._   “What about your music professors?  Shouldn’t they have ideas?”

“I’m kind of embarrassed to tell them how lost I am,” Angela admitted.

“They’re supposed to provide guidance to their students.  If you had all the answers, you wouldn’t need them.”

“I suppose,” Angela said.  “I can ask them, but I know what they’ll say: _Follow your passion_.  I just don’t know what that is anymore.”

“Sounds like you need to take a break.  Try to relax and don’t think about it too much.  Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon after we wrap up the Masterson case and those pressures let up you’ll be able to let your subconscious take over.  That part of your brain can solve tough puzzles for you.”

“Is that how you became an FBI agent?”

“In a sense.  I started out as a baseball player.  I knew that being injured was a possibility, and so I got degrees in accounting and thought about my options but it didn’t feel real.  When I got hurt seriously enough that I knew I needed to leave the game, at first I was in shock.  I hadn’t expected the moment to happen so soon, and froze when people asked what I was going to do next.  I spent a month at my parents’ place and my mother told me to let go of the worry and let the answer come when I was ready.  By the end of the month I’d filled out my application to work for the FBI and was certain it was the right decision.”

Henry yelled that the ice cream was melting, and they left the kitchen to admire the banana splits before devouring the creations.  Peter suspected Neal had been in charge of toppings, because each dessert had looked artistically arranged.

A few more claps of thunder shook the house as they ate, and by the time they finished rain was pounding on the back windows. 

“If you want a song, I have an idea,” Angela said.

“I’d love to have a private performance by Urban Legend, but you don’t have your instruments,” El said. 

“We won’t need them. Everyone follow my lead.” Angela snapped her fingers and then clapped, with the others picking up the cadence.  Even El and Peter joined in.  Satchmo lay on the floor by the table and it seemed his tail wagged in time.  “The rain’s our beat,” she added, and Henry started drumming softly on the dining room table.  Angela stood and sang the first verse of “I Love a Rainy Night,” with Neal taking the next verse.  Henry wandered about the room, using the bookcases and even the walls for percussion, and joined in the choruses.

Peter wished he’d recorded the performance, to replay the way his brother Joe did with videos of his daughters.  But he met El’s eyes and knew that they’d fixed this evening in their memories.  They could play it again whenever they wanted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throughout the story I’ve borrowed names from the movie Casablanca, and in this chapter a few of the characters’ lines are based on dialogue from the movie. 
> 
> Next week I’ll be traveling and won’t have time to edit the next chapter. Therefore I won’t post next weekend. I’ll be back two weeks from now with chapter 38. 
> 
> Thanks to Silbrith for her usual beta-reader awesomeness, and thanks everyone for reading!


	38. Password

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, remember that in 2004 there weren’t tablets or smartphones as we know them. Also no Facebook and no Twitter yet.

**Federal Building, Manhattan. Wednesday morning. July 21, 2004.**

When Neal led his cousins into the bullpen and showed them his desk, Angela looked at his laptop with longing. “Need to catch up on email?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m feeling out of touch.”

Peter walked over to greet them. “Ready for the morning briefing?”

“Is it OK if Angela uses my computer later?”

“Anything you do on a Bureau computer is monitored,” Peter warned. “But it should be fine, as long as you don’t try to access any Bureau systems. Neal, I assume you don’t keep any restricted documents on the hard drive?”

“No, it’s clean,” Neal said. He grabbed a sticky note and wrote down his password, handing to it Angela. “This’ll get you in.”

Much of the morning briefing was spent on the Masterson case, including thanking agents for participating in the online campaign to hype Urban Legend and covering the protocols for Peter’s absence that afternoon when he went undercover as the group’s agent to meet with a Masterson rep. Then Angela was excused, and she made a hasty exit to get time on Neal’s computer. Henry stuck around for the end of the meeting, when the team discussed the previous day’s Tuesday Tails exercise. He contributed to the conversation about how the cousins had confused the two agents tailing them.

“Were you calling each other to coordinate?” Jones asked.

“No,” Henry said. “We planned out in advance what we wanted to achieve and how. Phone calls would have been distracting.”

“It would have slowed us down,” Neal agreed. “We outlined a plan that still allowed us to improvise as needed. We have a lot of practice working together to lose a tail, and that was our advantage yesterday. We trust each other and know what to expect.”

“Teamwork, people,” Peter added. “It can be our strength. It’s also important to remember that the suspects we’re going after for our cases may have partners or entire crews. If you focus on one person, you could lose sight of the big picture. Think about who might be helping your suspect, and how.” With that he dismissed everyone but Neal, Henry, Tricia and Travis. “Neal, would you grab Angela? I’d like to hear context and recommendations from all three of you before I meet with Masterson as your business manager.”

Henry stood up. “I’ll get her. No, it’s OK,” he said as Neal started to rise. “I wanted to grab some coffee, anyway.” He popped out and Neal shrugged.

With Henry out of earshot, Neal asked Tricia, “Any luck on flipping Jason Ford?”

“More or less. He still maintains Robert Winslow isn’t evil. Jason leans toward the theory that Robert is delusional and in his own whacked out view of the world truly believes he’s the good guy in all of this. But at least Jason isn’t buying into the delusion anymore. He agrees Robert has to be stopped. In addition to details about the kidnapping, so far he’s shared some of Robert’s hiding spots and tricks for staying out of sight, but I feel like we’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg. Right now he’s in the Marshals’ hands. They wanted to question him about impersonating an Air Marshal and the threats Robert made against protected witnesses, in addition to how Robert was using James Bennett’s ID. I’ll get another shot at him next week.” Tricia dropped the topic as Henry and Angela walked up the stairs to the conference room.

Neal noticed Henry wasn’t carrying a cup of coffee, but assumed it meant his cousin had gotten a whiff of Bureau brew and wisely decided to avoid it.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

At the end of the meeting, Neal offered to escort Angela out and hail a cab to take her to the interview she’d scheduled over the lunch hour. Tricia and Travis returned to their desks and Henry said he’d wait at Neal’s desk, but Peter asked him to stay in the conference room.

Before Peter could ask the questions on his mind, Henry kicked things off with, “FBI brass expecting you to keep an eye on Win-Win?”

“Not officially, but you could say they are very pleased at the collaboration recently. For years – decades even – the Bureau and Win-Win have been at odds. Getting access to the company’s resources is a win for us, but there are concerns you’ll cross some lines that we can’t condone. They’ll expect a detailed report of how things worked after we apprehend Robert.”

“Me personally, or is the worry that Win-Win will cross those lines?”

“Based on Graham’s aspirations for you… There will be a lot of attention on you, and speculation about where you’ll take the company, unless you tell me you have no interest in the CEO role.”

“The company’s in my DNA. Now that I’ve been working there a while, it’s hard to imagine not being part of their future. If I stay long term, I’d naturally move up into upper management and people would expect me to consider the CEO role.” He stood up, pacing the room as he continued. “But I’m not ready to take charge now. I don’t want to give up being an investigator right away. I spent a lot of years as a nomad, on the road with Neal, and these last few months have reminded me how much I liked traveling. A CEO’s supposed to be available for constant leadership meetings. I have to figure out how to get the right balance. Or even if a balance is possible.”

Last night after the cousins left his townhouse, Peter had called his brother Joe again. First he’d described the conversation with Angela about her desire to select a vocation. She’d felt pressure to decide on her direction because it seemed both of her cousins had their paths figured out. But Peter suspected Henry was at a crossroads, too. Joe’s advice had been to hear them out, and let them talk themselves through it, realizing that it could take many conversations before they figured out what they wanted. In the spirit of that advice Peter asked, “Have they given you a deadline for committing to the CEO role?”

Henry’s pacing slowed. “No, no one’s set a date.”

“Has anyone other than Robert pressured you to take a specific role or to make a long-term commitment to the company?”

“Umm. No.” Henry came to a stop. “You think the only person putting pressure on me is me?”

“I do think you put a lot of pressure on yourself, and I’m sure Graham isn’t subtle about what he wants. But maybe you need to take some time to experience Win-Win without Robert. Take stock of the situation and your options. Decide what you want and present your own recommendation to the board. I have a feeling they’re motivated to listen to you and to keep you happy.”

Henry pondered that a moment and grinned. “Peter, you’re sounding almost fatherly.”

“You can thank Joe for that. His girls aren’t that much younger than you. They’re in college now, and pondering what they’ll do when they graduate.”

Henry sat down and leaned forward. “Angela said your brother helped out when we were kidnapped and she wanted to get that S.O.S. to you. Give him my thanks.”

“Will do. Last night you quoted _Casablanca_ , mentioning the troubles of three people compared to what’s going on in the world. Maybe we should talk about your troubles.”

“That’s what we’ve been doing.” Henry leaned back and looked out of the conference room, making a show of searching for something. “What’s taking Neal so long?”

“Probably wanted to get an overpriced coffee rather than drink the government blend. But don’t change the subject. Your career’s important and I’m glad we could talk about that, but I know there’s more going on with you. You made it plenty clear at the concert that you’re struggling, and I want to know how I can help.”

Henry rolled his eyes in a look of impatience so reminiscent of Neal, Peter had to hide a grin. “That was Shawn talking at the concert. I was in another role. You gotta ignore what I said in the moment as Shawn.”

“Ah, yes. The role of the bright, talented nomad determined to bring the bad guys to justice. About the only difference I can see between Shawn and your usual persona is that you’re more intense as Shawn. Although I’m starting to wonder if being relaxed as your usual self isn’t the real pretense.”

“Is your brother as nosy as you? I may need to rethink my stance on his relationship with my mom.” He stood up again. “There’s Neal.” He zipped out of the room to claim one of the cups of coffee his cousin had bought.

Peter shook his head. If Henry wouldn’t talk to him, maybe he should try a different approach. He would let Neal know what Henry had said at the concert, and see if Henry would open up to his cousin, instead.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Peter had shuffled his schedule to accommodate the meeting with a Masterson rep in the afternoon. That meant he had a noon meeting with Hughes and couldn’t join the cousins for lunch. They had only a few minutes free between lunch and the training session they were scheduled to give, and they seemed determined to cram even more music industry knowledge and terminology into Peter’s head to prepare him for his undercover role. Finally he told them he knew what he was doing, although he could tell from the looks they gave each other that they wanted to find an excuse to go along with him.

“This is a business meeting,” Peter said. “Your business manager doesn’t have to be a musician.”

“You should be familiar with the industry,” Henry insisted.

“Not necessarily. If Masterson thinks I’m new to the industry, they’re more likely to think they can trick me – and you – into signing a contract that takes advantage of you. That makes it easier to catch them in illegal practices. My cover includes only minimal experience in the industry specifically for that reason.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” said Neal, “but you have to understand –”

“This has been our case for years,” Henry interrupted. “It’s one thing to add to our crew, but –”

“It’s hard to hand over control to someone else,” Neal said.

“I get it,” Peter promised, “but I’m the one with the business degree, and I do have extensive experience going undercover as a businessman. This is my area. It’s time to let me do my piece, and you need to focus on the training session.”

He led them into the conference room, where most of the team was gathering. After a few minutes of chatting with the team he announced it was time to get started. “Some of you already know that Neal ran away from home in his teens. Now he does volunteer work at a local runaway shelter, and recently talked to some of the kids there about how to interact in a positive manner with law enforcement officials. I asked him to talk to our team on the same topic. We don’t have a great track record when it comes to eliciting information from street kids who are potential witnesses to a crime. I thought having an understanding of their perspective would help us do better at gaining the trust of these kids so they’ll stick around and actually answer our questions. Neal, the floor is yours.”

Peter had about 30 minutes before he needed to leave for his meeting, and he watched the first part of the training session from the back of the room. Neal started with talking about the reasons kids run away and what their experiences are like. He threw in a few personal references to his own efforts looking for a safe place to sleep and stash his stuff in Chicago.

That led to questions from the team about why Neal ran away. Needing to avoid references to being in WITSEC, he kept things vague. “My mother was an alcoholic who had been in and out of rehab. Her choice in boyfriends was… unfortunate.”

“Why Chicago?” asked an agent.

According to the background the Marshals had made up for him, Neal had spent much of his youth attending schools in Paris. Peter was curious how Neal would explain his transition back to the States. “I was in my last year of what passed for high school in Europe, and was visiting U.S. colleges during a spring break. DePaul was the last one we visited, and when I was there I realized I couldn’t face going back home. I liked that it was a big city, easier to disappear in than some other college towns. Or so I thought. Henry found me quickly enough.”

“Our mothers kept in touch even though Neal’s mom is estranged from the rest of the family. Mom told me that he’d disappeared in Chicago, and I’d pulled a disappearing act of my own so I knew the mindset and options available to him.” Henry held up his hand in a _stop_ motion when someone started to ask a question. “If you want to know why I ran away, it’s in the Robert Winslow case file. Not everything in it is public record yet.”

“Did you send Neal back home?” an agent asked.

“No. He was sick when I found him. In the grip of a fever, he said things about the abuse he’d endured. He wouldn’t talk about all of it, but I heard enough to know that going home wasn’t an option. So instead I decided to adopt him as my brother and keep watch over him myself.”

In the back of the room, Peter nodded. This was what he’d hoped would happen. Neal was downplaying his experiences, but it was clear to a group of curious FBI agents that he’d had a rough time as a kid. He was winning the sympathy of several agents who’d previously been jealous of him. Neal’s life didn’t seem so easy or privileged once you saw the details.

The roleplaying of scenarios interacting with runaway teens looked like fun, but Peter had to leave. He’d ask Jones for a recap later.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Henry had to admit Peter knew what he was doing by scheduling this training session. You could almost see some of the agents’ sympathies turn toward Neal as they realized what he’d been through. The fact that he tried to sugarcoat his own experiences was typical Neal, and only served to make his peers even more sympathetic than if he’d been obviously trying to tug at their heartstrings.

Of course, this raised the concern that several of his peers had needed this session in order to be won over. The FBI was a very different place from Win-Win, where half the employees were Winstons or Winslows and had grown up together, tearing down the corridors of the office when their parents brought them to work, and hanging out at company events. Henry supposed some of them might be jealous of the fact that Graham seemed determined to groom him as the next CEO, but if so they wouldn’t be shy about saying it to his face.

FBI office politics were another beast, and not something Neal had grown up around. This bore watching, to make sure he was treated fairly. One more item for Henry’s to-do list.

When he’d fetched Angela from Neal’s desk, he’d picked up the slip of paper that held Neal’s password. He’d balled it up and tossed it in the trash while she watched, but not before memorizing the contents. After the training session, he claimed he also needed to catch up on email, and Neal logged him in. Henry made a show of not watching as Neal entered the password.

Now Neal was chatting with Agent Tricia Wiese about something, and Henry was exploring. As he’d expected, the password to logon to the laptop was the same one used by several of the systems Neal had access to. Someday he’d have to talk to Neal about having a different password for his screen saver. Wanting to determine if Neal was being treated fairly, Henry browsed through his cousin’s Bureau email account and the case files where Neal documented what he’d done. One particular email caught his eye, and he followed a link to an HR system. If the password was the same…

_Oh, yeah. Perfect._ Henry glanced at Neal. _Keep talking_. _This is gonna take a while_.

Henry knew that he’d been more annoyed than gracious about Neal coming to the rescue after the kidnapping. The annoyance that he couldn’t rescue himself wouldn’t fade anytime soon, but he could express his gratitude now. And best of all, this was something Neal needed and would never ask for. In fact, he’d probably be annoyed once he figured out what Henry had done.

He grinned. They were a lot alike, and that made it child’s play to get inside each other’s heads.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Henry still looked busy. Hadn’t he already caught up on his personal email now that he wasn’t playing cat-and-mouse with Robert? Maybe he was catching up on Win-Win email. If they were anything like the FBI, he must have accumulated hundreds – no, make that thousands – of messages in the last couple of months. Neal shrugged and continued his conversation with Tricia, and then talked to Jones. Next Travis stopped by, followed by Collins. It seemed everyone had a few more questions to ask about dealing with street kids, or about Neal’s own experiences as a runaway, or about the shelter where he volunteered. The topic had struck a chord in the team.

Finally he turned around to see Henry leaning lazily against Neal’s desk. “They liked your talk,” Henry said.

“Yeah.”

“Naturally my contributions in the roleplaying made it significantly more compelling.”

Neal chuckled. “Yeah, you make a very convincing rebellious teenager. Your willingness to trade information for a cheeseburger shows you haven’t changed much.”

Henry crossed his arms. “Are you saying I need to grow up?”

“Do you think you need to grow up?”

Henry stood up straight. “And this is what comes of letting you attend some of my psychology classes at DePaul.” He glanced around. “Speaking of which, why did you really decide on Chicago when you ran away?”

Neal glanced around, too. No one was listening. “I’d apprenticed with a forger in St. Louis when I was 16. He decided he could do more business in Chicago and moved up there a few months before I ran away. He’d said I’d be welcome if I needed work, but I never found him.” Neal shrugged. “I looked him up when I was practicing using the FBI systems when I started working here. He has a few arrests on his record now. It’s possible he was in prison when I ran away.”

Henry checked his watch.

“Time for your flight?”

“I need to leave soon. Angela and I are scheduled to open for a group in Austin tonight, then we’re on to Houston on Thursday. Back here Friday to practice with Local Devastation. At this rate it’ll be a couple of weeks before I see my apartment again.” He looked at his watch again. “It’s good that Peter’s still gone, right? It means Masterson is interested in us.”

“I’d say so, yeah. I’ll let you know what he says when he gets back. Voicemail, email, text message – I have ample options for getting word to you. You know, now that you’re staying in touch.”

“Sarcasm noted,” Henry said. “Yes, I’m staying in touch now, but I’m not apologizing for going off the radar for a while. I did what I had to do.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Peter met with the Masterson rep at the bar next to Randy Weston’s music shop. The rep plied him with martinis and praise for Urban Legend, especially Peter’s wisdom in getting the group to hire him. Peter freely admitted that they were providing his entrée into the music industry, while he provided the common sense business management that they’d been lacking.

“Everything went as I expected,” Peter told Neal back at the office late that afternoon. “They want to sign you before some other label snatches you up. He outlined a generous offer but was careful not to put anything in writing. With your cousins out of town for performances the next couple of days, he knows he has to be patient, but he’s pushing to get all three of you at Masterson’s New York office to sign on Friday.”

“All three of us?” Neal repeated.

“Don’t you want to be part of it?”

“Yeah, but I thought Henry might have to insist we’re a trio in order to get my foot in.”

Peter shook his head. This kid projected an aura of confidence befitting a con man, but he had a bundle of insecurities too. “Maybe you should watch that recording of your performance at the Beacon. It’s no surprise that they want you as part of the package.” He paused. “Is Mozzie going to be an issue? They’ll expect to see your agent when you sign.”

“He’s looking forward to it. The Federal Building is a lion’s den he’d prefer to avoid, but he doesn’t have the same fear of Masterson. He’ll be in his element infiltrating the offices of the evil corporate giant.”

“Glad to hear it. You’ll let him and your cousins know about the meeting?”

“Sure.” Neal was sitting in Peter’s office and had been tapping his foot impatiently.

It was clear Neal had something on his mind, but Peter was determined to bring up his concerns about Henry. Neal needed to know that…

“I’m worried about Henry,” Neal said. “He’s hiding it, but he’s still kind of shaken by the kidnapping.”

“I agree,” Peter said. So much for telling Neal that Henry was having issues. “I’ve tried to let him know I’m here for him, but I don’t know what he needs.”

“He probably doesn’t know, himself. He’s not used to needing help.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Peter requested. “You and Angela, too. If it looks like Henry’s going to do something too crazy, let me know and I’ll help you intervene.”

“Thanks,” said Neal, and he looked relieved as he stood up and took his leave.

Peter was glad Neal had faith in him, but had to admit he had doubts about how much they could do for Henry. Their best bet was prevention – trying to keep Henry from landing in hot water. That wouldn’t be easy.

He powered up his laptop and checked his email, responding to the messages that had piled up while he had been undercover as Peter Blaine. He was about half an hour into that exercise when he came across the automatic notification from HR. He opened the notice and was surprised that it had been triggered by Neal. The fact was, Neal had a nearly infinite capacity for procrastination when it came to tasks he viewed as boring, and Peter had expected that this was something Neal would avoid till the very last minute. The fact that Neal was among the first to complete it was encouraging.

He was about to follow the link to read what Neal had turned in, but Tricia knocked on his door. “Peter, I got a call a few minutes ago. Agent Yoshida has requested that we send Jason Ford to Seattle for questioning. They’re interested in his role in helping Robert escape after they’d cornered him in the Seattle Underground last month.”

Peter reluctantly closed the email from HR. Prisoner transfers meant involving the Marshals, and the resulting paperwork would take hours to complete. Even worse, his gut was telling him this was a bad idea, but he had no evidence to convince his superiors that Ford should stay in New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated Happy Thanksgiving to any Canadian readers. I spent the holiday in beautiful British Columbia. Thanks to Silbrith for last-minute edits when I returned from vacation; I have the best beta reader ever.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading. Next week’s chapter will include progress in the Masterson case. It’s gaining momentum now. If you didn’t guess what Henry was up to on Neal’s computer, that will be revealed before this story ends.


	39. The Sting Part 1

**Masterson Music, Manhattan. Friday morning. July 23, 2004.**

_Three singers, an FBI agent, a conspiracy theorist and a lawyer walk into an office_ … Neal looked at this subset of his crew and reminded himself this wasn’t a joke. After years of talking with Henry about how someone should do something about Masterson, after weeks of planning and hours of fine tuning the plan this morning, they were finally walking into the Masterson Music New York office to sign a contract. This was real.

Peter introduced them to the Masterson rep he’d met with on Wednesday, Charlie Vensen. “Come in, come in,” Charlie said as he led them to a conference room. “Everyone’s been buzzing about you. It’s electric in here, am I right?”

“He reminds me of a cheerleader,” Angela said in an undertone.

“Carnival barker,” Henry muttered.

“Step right up to see how we trick you,” Neal added.

“Hush,” said Peter. Then he stepped ahead to meet Charlie’s long strides. “We couldn’t be more excited. Urban Legend and Masterson Music. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“We see eye to eye on that. Making these kids’ incredible voices heard around the world through our sales and marketing, while we all get filthy rich – it’s fame and fortune from here on. Right this way,” he opened a door and they walked into a room with navy blue walls and shiny white furniture. “Take a seat. I’ll grab our team and be right back.”

It had been raining, and they put their raincoats on the backs of their chairs. Peter had a folded up umbrella, a compact one in a coordinating black sleeve, and he placed it on the table beside him. It matched his black suit. He was going for the vibe of a precise accountant who was out of his depth in the music world.

“These seats aren’t very comfortable,” Yvette Garza said as she settled into the molded white plastic chair. She also wore a suit, but hers was bright red and too sexy to be approved by the average law firm. She was playing up her youth and inexperience, but had spent most of yesterday being coached by Ilsa Hughes on what to look for in the contracts today.  

“It’s part of the game,” Mozzie told her. “They don’t want us to linger.” In his pale suit and bowtie, he looked the perfect mix of conservative businessman and nonconformist member of the music industry. “Bowties are cool,” he’d informed them when he’d arrived for the final planning session three hours ago.

Angela and Henry looked like toned-down versions of their Urban Legend personas. Angela wore the dark clothing she preferred, and her makeup was light but played up her pale complexion. She was tired, coming into this meeting after performances in Texas and the redeye flight back to New York, and she looked it. Henry went for a casual look, but his clothes were obviously expensive. He was playing a bored, spoiled rich kid today. Of course he was tired, too, and Mozzie had speculated that Masterson timed the meeting to happen when they’d be worn out from touring and therefore not as sharp as they could be.

Neal had gone for a studious look, with glasses, since in the radio interview he’d mentioned being in New York to go to college. He nodded in approval at his crew. They were all in character.

A perky secretary stopped by with menus from a local deli. “We thought you might like lunch, since it’s nearly noon. What would you like?”

“Impressive,” said Neal. “This place was rated the best deli in Manhattan.”

“Nothing but the best for our clients,” the secretary promised. She took their orders and swept out of the room as Charlie returned with two more people.

“Amos will walk you through the contract,” Charlie said, introducing someone who looked like a TV lawyer – too flashy for the exclusive Manhattan law firms, but a good fit for Masterson. “And Theresa’s from our marketing department. She’ll get to know you and then plan how to make you famous. Anything from album cover artwork to press releases – she’s a genius at it. She’ll be your best friend around here, other than me, of course.” Charlie laughed a little too long at his own joke.

For the first time today, Neal felt a twinge of panic. Theresa looked very much like the art student he’d had a crush on in St. Louis, the girl who’d helped him get a job at the restaurant where she worked. She had the same classic beauty and gliding walk. In fact, he suddenly realized she looked a lot like Kate, which might have been why he’d reacted so strongly when he’d first encountered Kate. If this was the same Theresa, he’d be in trouble if she recognized him as Danny Brooks. She wouldn’t though, would she? He’d been a kid back then, barely 16. He’d changed a lot more than she had.

“You’re Henry and Angela, obviously. I saw your interview with Tom Brokaw.” Theresa shook their hands. “And Neal… But that’s your stage name. What do I call you?”

Neal had a freshly made ID in his wallet in case they asked for it when he signed the contract. He stuck with what it said. “I’m George, but that was my father’s name, too. Everyone called me by my middle name: Neal.”

“Neal Caffrey?” she asked.

“Right. And this is Yvette Garza,” he rushed into the introduction before Theresa had time to shake his hand. “She’s our lawyer.”

“You brought a lawyer?” Charlie asked.

“I recommended it,” Peter said. He turned his back, but Neal knew he was giving Charlie a pained expression. “Turns out Neal’s dating a law student.”

“Welcome, Yvette,” Charlie said, reaching out to shake her hand and barely hiding a leer.

“I met Yvette back home in Austin,” Neal said with a hint of a Texas accent. “Now she’s going to Cornell in Ithaca, so it’s not too much of a long-distance relationship.”

Yvette leaned into Neal and he put an arm around her shoulders. “My law professors are going to totally freak when I tell them about this. I might decide to specialize in contract law.”

“Oh, and what have you been specializing in?” Charlie asked.

“I hadn’t picked a specialty yet, but I was thinking prenups. It would be so romantic you know, working with newlyweds.” She looked adoringly up at Neal and sighed while patting his chest. A small diamond caught the light in the ring on her left hand. She’d gotten engaged last week, and Mozzie had suggested using that fact in their con.

“Umm, right,” said Theresa. Her expression said it all: if she ever needed a prenuptial agreement, Yvette wouldn’t be her first choice to write it.

Peter stood and reached across the table to shake Theresa’s hand. “Peter Blaine. I’m their business manager. I can’t tell you how great it is to work with a pro. I have a lot of experience, but not in the music world. I hope you don’t mind if I have a lot of questions.”

“Not at all. There’s nothing I like talking about more.” Theresa turned to Mozzie. “And you must be their agent.”

“Louis Renault.” Mozz stood and bowed slightly. “At your service, madam.”

“What a gentleman! You are unique.” She turned back to Neal. “I have to say, you remind me of someone. Have we met before?”

Grateful he’d chosen the glasses today, Neal said, “I get that a lot. Wondered what it was about, and then some kids cleared it up at a New Year’s Eve party. They said I looked like Harry Potter.”

“Hmm. That could be an interesting angle…” Theresa wrote a note on the pad of paper in front of her.

“Those same kids thought I was Ron Weasley,” Henry added. “I know some sleight of hand and impressed them with a few magic tricks.”

Theresa nodded and then studied Angela.

“What?” the youngest cousin asked.

“I was thinking if we curled your hair, we might have a Hermione. I should talk to the movie producers. I don’t think we can use Harry Potter in our marketing, not without paying a hefty licensing fee. But maybe they could use a pop song in one of their upcoming soundtracks?”

Mozzie nodded gravely. “That’s an excellent idea. There’s so much you can do with a trio, especially a trio as talented and versatile as this one. As I always say, ‘Three in the hand is better than none in the bush.’”

Neal shook his head. “Please stop trying to make that a saying.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

When Amos pulled out an intimidatingly large stack of papers and started rushing through the highlights of each page, it reminded Peter of when he and El bought their townhouse. They’d spent an hour at a title company with a woman who ran through forms at that same blistering speed.

Yvette had been given a copy which she read through at a slower pace, taking in the details. Peter had the scanning device Travis had provided for this op disguised as an umbrella, but given the length of the contract they were going to need significant time to scan all the pages.

“Any questions?” Amos asked in a deep, authoritative voice.

“We’ll be able to take this with us to review in more detail, right?” Peter asked, although he already knew the answer.

“We really need to get this signed today,” Charlie said. “And we don’t let the contract leave the building. There’s too much chance of pages being lost or modified. You’ll keep a copy of the final page, with the date and signatures and the contract ID so we can always look it up and walk you through the details as needed.”

“Let’s set up Yvette in a quiet room, then, where she can finish reading it. She can come back with her questions after we’re done talking to Theresa.”

Charlie reluctantly agreed, and left to arrange a space. Peter slipped the umbrella into Yvette’s coat pocket. She’d been trained on how to use the scanner, and she took the raincoat with her when she followed Charlie to another room. Lunch arrived and Neal took her sandwich to her, both to appear as a doted fiancé, and to make sure he knew where she was.

He returned a moment later and nodded at Peter. Yvette was in a space where she could scan copies without being observed. Now they just needed to draw out this lunch with the Masterson team long enough for her to finish. “Play for time,” Peter said in an undertone to Mozzie while unwrapping his deviled ham sandwich.

“You said you’ll expect the group to be available for events planned by Masterson 304 days of each year,” the little guy said. “For ‘concerts, performances, interviews, and publicity events of the company’s choosing,’” he quoted.

Peter raised a brow. Neal had said Mozzie had perfect recall, but this was the first Peter had seen of it. He’d been worried that Mozzie hadn’t taken any notes during this morning’s planning session or during the contract review by Amos. Clearly there’d been no need for concern.

“Right,” said Charlie. “That’s 60 days off each year. Much more vacation time than you or I get, am I right?”

“Well, no,” Mozzie said. “The average American office worker gets weekends off, which totals 104 days per year, plus vacation days, holidays and sick time. You’re offering only 60 days, and during that time they also need to record one album per annum.”

“We don’t actually use all 300 days,” Theresa said. “And we’ll check with you at least twice per year to see if there are days you need to reserve. Family commitments, weddings…” She glanced at Neal. “From what I’ve seen, we’ll be marketing Urban Legend as a family-friendly group, safe for teens and tweens, while interesting enough to bring in the college crowd and slightly older. We’ll definitely want to make sure you get quality time with your families. And if we can sometimes have a camera or reporter there for say half an hour, even downtime with the family counts toward your 300 day commitment. It’s so important to stay in the limelight in this business.”

She sounded perfectly sincere, and if Peter had to guess he’d say she wasn’t aware of how Masterson was taking advantage of its clients. He was a little worried about that, actually. Neal hid it well, but he’d had a reaction to Theresa. She did resemble Kate, Peter supposed, and that might make some kind of protective instinct kick in. Neal wouldn’t back out of this op out of worry that bringing down Stan Masterson would hurt innocent employees, would he?

“Speaking of family friendly,” said Henry, pointing at Angela, “can we get Morticia here to lay off the whole Goth thing? It was one thing when you needed all the makeup to hide your identity, but that’s over.”

“I like it now,” Angela whined. “Anyway, your clean-cut look is so boring.”

“I’m sure we can come to a compromise,” Theresa said. “I agree that Urban Legend could stand to be a little edgier, but Angela, you’re a beautiful young woman and it’s a shame to hide that.”

They drew out the meal with occasional sniping. Neal was quiet, and Peter worried about him.

“You’ve been very quiet, Neal,” said Charlie as Theresa gathered the lunch leftovers with help from Peter.

Neal shrugged. “This is mostly about Henry and Angela. We haven’t seen my contract yet.”

“What?” asked at least four different people.

Neal looked around the room in surprise. “Listen, I’m happy to work on the album and join the occasional performance, but like I said in that interview, I’m in New York to go to college. I can’t spend 300 days a year in Urban Legend.”

“Are you kidding me?” asked Henry. “We finally hit the big time and you’re backing out?”

“C’mon. You two have rich families to fall back on if you fail. I’m from the poor branch of the Caffreys. I need an education. I put off college first to start Urban Legend with you, and then because I was too sick. Now I’ve got a scholarship to Columbia, and I can’t pass that up.”

“Whoa,” said Charlie. “This is a game changer. Our offer was to Urban Legend. All three of you.”

“Urban Legend has never been all three of us,” Neal disagreed. “I haven’t been in the group for years.”

“Have you told Yvette about this? Because this morning when you introduced us she was all ‘I’m going to be Mrs. Legend.’ She thinks she’s marrying a rock star, not an unemployed college student,” Henry argued.

“OK, let’s give them some space,” Peter said. “Let’s clear out and gather back in thirty minutes. Louis, can you stay with them to negotiate an agreement? I’ll check on Yvette.”

Amos and Theresa cleared out, and Charlie led the way to Yvette. “Musicians are nothing if not volatile,” Charlie said. “Not much surprises me these days, but I gotta say I didn’t see that coming. When does a twenty-something pick school over being a rock god, am I right? What do you think? Is he angling for more money?”

“I’ll see what Yvette thinks. She knows him better than any of us.”

“Oh, that’s why you said you were checking on her. Smart thinking. This is it. Good luck.” Charlie saluted Peter and walked away.

Peter knocked on the door and then entered. “How’s it going?”

Yvette looked stressed. “It stopped working. I called Agent Miller to troubleshoot and he said the scanner’s out of memory. He didn’t expect the contract to be so long.”

“Are you up for a repeat performance? I think Neal’s given us the perfect excuse to come back tomorrow.” Peter pulled out his cell phone to call Neal, who put him on speaker to coordinate with the cousins and Mozzie.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Masterson Music relented when Peter pointed out that they could still publish their press release that afternoon. They had a contract with the two current members of Urban Legend. The legal department had a day to draft an addendum for Neal’s more limited role in the group. Everyone would return Saturday morning to sign the new document, which would also include a few changes Yvette requested. Ilsa Hughes had suggested some items that would act as an escape clause when the FBI arrested Stan Masterson. After all, Masterson Music would still exist, and the cousins didn’t actually want a commitment to become full-time musicians for the company.

“The office will be nearly empty on Saturday,” Mozzie commented when they left on Friday. “Now that I know my way around, I’ll look for an opportunity to explore.”

Saturday morning Amos ran them through another legal document, and Yvette took the full contract and addendum to another room to read. Amos returned to his desk and said he’d check in later to see if they had questions. In the conference room with everyone else Theresa said, “Henry, I’ve been doing some research for our marketing campaign. You work for a company called Winston-Winslow?”

Henry shrugged. He was pretending to be hungover after a night of celebration about getting a contract with Masterson Music.

“The description I found called it an investigation and security firm. Are you a PI?” Theresa looked intrigued at the thought. “I could do a lot with that in our marketing.”

Charlie sat up straight. “You’re a detective?” He sounded alarmed. That, more than anything, convinced Neal that Charlie knew what Masterson Music was up to.

“Glorified receptionist is more like it.” Henry yawned. “It’s a family business. My dad insisted I join, but as the kidnapping might indicate, I’m not on the best terms with him. I have a desk at the office – at least I think I still do – but I haven’t been there in months. Urban Legend going pro finally gives me the chance to escape corporate life.”

“You need to actually give your resignation, doofus,” said Angela. “In writing.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll do that next time I’m in Baltimore. Not like they’re going to try changing my mind. After this long, they won’t even notice.”

“Most people there probably think you quit ages ago,” said Neal.

Mozzie stood up and said. “I’ve been sitting too long. I’d like to take a tour of the office if you don’t mind.”

Charlie looked dubious.

“There’s a sign at the entry that said the building is LEED certified,” Mozz continued. “Is that true?”

Theresa nodded. “Yes, it’s a green building. We also have an extensive recycling program and try to minimize our impact on the environment. I’d be happy to show you around.”

Mozzie turned a desperate look toward Neal. He couldn’t do the exploration he wanted with a witness. Neal nodded toward Henry, who shook his head. Angela rolled her eyes and turned to Theresa. “Would you mind showing me to the ladies’ room?”

With Angela and Theresa gone, Peter seemed to catch on. “Charlie, where can I get another cup of that coffee?”

“Breakroom’s just down the hall. Probably need to put on a fresh pot. No one around to do that for us on a Saturday, am I right? I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

With Charlie gone, Peter looked at Mozz, Neal and Henry. “What’s going on?”

Mozzie started. “When we walked over here, we passed the executive suites. They keep an office here for when Stan Masterson visits. I need to see if he keeps anything incriminating in his files.”

“You said we already have a warrant to be here, Peter,” Neal said. “It’s OK for Mozz to poke around, right?”

“Of course it is,” Mozzie said. “But I need to avoid witnesses. Neal, you have to flirt with her.”

“I can’t,” Neal insisted. “I’m pretty sure I met Theresa when I was a kid in St. Louis. The last thing I want is for her to recognize me. The less attention I get from her, the better.”

“That’s why you’ve been so quiet!” Peter said.

“Yeah. So obviously Henry has to flirt with her.”

Yvette cleared her throat. They hadn’t seen her walk in, and Neal realized he needed to keep an eye on the door. “I wanted to let you know I’m done with the contract,” she said. “Who’s Henry flirting with?”

“No one,” Henry said.

“Theresa,” said Neal. “We need to distract her. C’mon, man. You used to flirt with fans all the time.”

“That’s different. A smile passing through the crowd isn’t the same as intensive one-on-one time. Anyway, she reminds me too much of Kate.”

“Who?” asked Yvette.

“Neal’s old girlfriend. She came on to me after she learned the Winslows are wealthy.”

“She what?” Neal asked.

“Sent you out on an errand and slapped a big old kiss on me. Said later she was testing my loyalty to you. I never really trusted her and that sealed the deal for me. I was happy to see her go.”

“And you never bothered to tell me?”

“Are you kidding? You were besotted. I knew there’d be no convincing you, not after she told me she’d claim it was just a joke if I mentioned it. All I could do was keep watch to make sure she didn’t hurt you too badly. Snap out of it, Neal. Kate’s long gone. We have to deal with Theresa. If she hasn’t recognized you by now, you should be safe.”

Neal gestured toward Yvette. “I’m engaged.”

Henry snorted. “Yeah, right. Flirting for you is like breathing. You won’t stop just because you’re engaged.”

“Will you shut up already and just do it? Flirting with Theresa won’t exactly be a hardship. She’s gorgeous.”

“She’s not my type,” Henry insisted.

“What exactly is your type?” Yvette asked. “You say it’s not Theresa. I know it’s not me.”

“Hold on,” Peter said. “You _are_ engaged.”

Yvette blushed. “Umm. Not really.” She met their looks of shock. “Listen, I didn’t want Henry to think I was still chasing him, so I thought if I said was engaged… Well, you know, you wouldn’t be wary around me. Neal either, of course.”

“Wait,” Henry said. “You and Neal?”

She kept blushing.

“That’s in the past,” Neal said. “Anyway, can we get back to…?” He looked up to see Angela and Theresa walking down the corridor toward them. They’d wasted their time and still didn’t have a solution.

Then he realized Mozzie was missing.

“Where’s Louis?” Theresa asked.

“He needed a cigarette,” Peter said.

“He’s not the only one,” Henry said.

Theresa looked distressed. “Don’t tell me you smoke. You realize the damage that could do to your vocal chords?”

“Just kidding,” said Henry. He smiled lazily at Theresa. “Things got a little heated in here with Neal and Yvette. A few too many pheromones rushing around. What do you say we take the tour you promised Louis, and give the lovebirds some privacy to make up after their first fight as an engaged couple?”

“Of course.” Theresa took Henry’s arm and Neal watched him led her away from the executive suites where Mozzie was searching for evidence.

“He never smiled at me like that,” Yvette complained.

“Wait, you and Henry?” Angela asked.

“I wish.” Yvette sat down, dejected.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know,” Neal complained. “Rebound guy has feelings, too.”

“You and Neal?” Angela asked.

“Long story,” said Peter.

“Yeah, well if Henry’s supposed to be romancing Theresa, he’s in for a shock. I think she was trying to flirt with me on our way back here.”

Peter laughed. “He was right, then. She’s not his type.”

An agitated Mozzie rushed in. “Suit, this is big!”

“What is it?” Peter asked.

“I saw a travel itinerary. Stan Masterson is flying into New York tomorrow. He’s staying through Wednesday, and he has meetings with those companies you mentioned.”

Neal could feel his eyes widening. A meeting between Stan Masterson and his accomplices in piracy – this was an opportunity too good to miss. “Peter, I have an idea.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you do. I have a few ideas, myself. Amos should be back soon. Let’s sign that contract and plan our next move.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

The planning Peter mentioned was done on the drive to Theo’s studio. Neal and Mozzie tossed ideas at him that he fielded like the baseball player he used to be, and then the cousins had to change gears and rehearse for their appearance in the Local Devastation concert.

Mozzie said he would update the Urban Legend website to mention they’d signed with Masterson. Theresa had also mentioned promotions she had in mind, and her comment that Neal and Yvette made a cute couple got Neal worried. What if Masterson announced that Neal was engaged? The last thing he wanted was for Sara Ellis to get the wrong idea.

Neal would have preferred to talk to her about this in person, but that wasn’t possible. From what she’d said on the Fourth of July, she’d still be in Boston, getting specialized training for her new job at Sterling-Bosch. He tried calling and went to voicemail, so he sent a text instead: _If U hear Neal Legend is engaged, don’t worry. It’s a sham._

Next time he had a break, he saw a return text from Sara: _Who’s Neal Legend?_

He had to laugh. She’d told him she wasn’t into pop music. This was a good reminder not to let Urban Legend’s recent success go to his head. Plenty of people still hadn’t heard of them.

He texted back: _Never mind. When RU back in NYC?_

This time she responded immediately: _IDK. Training going so well they signed me up for more. Great opportunities!_

He slouched in his chair, disappointed. If he’d kissed her goodbye would she be as excited about coming home as she was about her job? He almost sent a message that he missed her, but thought it sounded lame. Finally he sent: _Call when you’re home. We’ll catch up._

_Found Henry?_

_Safe and sound. We’re going undercover as rock stars._

_LOL. Srsly?_

_Taking down corrupt music executive. White Collar rocks._

_Not bad, hotshot._

_Better than training._

_IDK. Hot instructors._

Now he really wished he’d kissed her. When she got home he’d make sure she knew how he felt.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Madison Square Garden. Peter liked to think he wasn’t easily impressed, but at the moment he was in awe. He stood in the roped off area for security in Madison Square Garden, watching Urban Legend join rock icons Local Devastation on stage for a song. And then Local Devastation left the stage for a few minutes to take a break and Urban Legend performed one of Miranda Garza’s songs to keep the crowd entertained.

It was a sold out crowd. Tens of thousands of people.

White Collar solved crimes that were massive in scale, often involving millions of dollars. And they usually were barely a blip in the news. But this… This was massive. It was being broadcast live on a major network, so El was watching and recording it at home.

Normally friends and family had no idea what cases Peter worked on. This time, his parents, brother and nieces were all watching. His dad was curious to get a glimpse of Neal – after all, Peter had called for advice months ago about the young man who had started to view him as a father figure. He was certain that the cousins’ families were watching eagerly, too. He could almost hear the Caffrey grandparents debating who the kids took after the most.

And those kids – they looked absolutely ecstatic. After everything they’d been through, it was a joy to see them so happy.

After the concert, Neal looked a little dazed. He made a few comments to the mass of reporters, nothing very significant, and then security pushed the press away. They let Peter through, knowing he was with the performers, and he followed to the area where they had gone.

“I’ve never been so wiped out after a concert,” Henry said.

“Did you see Michael Darling on the keyboards?” Angela asked. “I’ve never seen anyone play like that. I mean, I’d seen videos of him, but I thought they were doctored. That was amazing.”

Peter sat down beside Neal. “Dream come true?”

Neal nodded. “I keep thinking back to Chicago. I was in the hospital with pneumonia, and this guy who called himself Henry and seemed vaguely familiar was promising adventure if I stuck with him. And he was right. Then when Robert blackmailed me into going away, I left for Europe looking for a different kind of adventure.”

Peter saw Henry focus on the conversation.

Neal seemed to notice, too. He never said much about his time in Europe. His confession to the FBI had focused primarily on crimes in their jurisdiction, in the U.S., and he was still frustratingly closed-mouthed about his time in Europe. “Nothing I did came close to this. Everything Henry kicked off seven years ago with that promise of adventure, it all led to tonight. I don’t think either of us could have dreamed what we experienced on that stage.”

Henry nodded. “My imagination didn’t extend this far. Like Angela said, it was amazing. But now that we’ve done it –”

“Once was enough –” Neal interrupted.

“To last a lifetime,” Henry finished.

“Thank heavens you said that,” said Angela. “I was just thinking I couldn’t possibly do this all year round.”

“I’d rather have this as a memory of something extraordinary,” Neal said.

“And not try to repeat it over and over,” Henry agreed.

“Then Monday we go back to bringing bad guys to justice?” Peter asked.

Angela nodded.

“Let’s nail them,” Henry said.

“That’s my kind of adventure,” Neal agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Silbrith for not only editing this chapter over her vacation, but also for inspiring so many new scenes that I split the sting into two chapters. In the next chapter we’ll meet Stan Masterson and Mozzie will weave another scheme into the sting. In the chapter after that it will be time to focus on Robert Winslow again.
> 
> Meanwhile, poor Neal still thinks Sara is going to fall in his arms when she returns to NYC. If you’ve been reading Silbrith’s stories set after this one, you know his romantic adventures are much more complex than that. 
> 
> See the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board for the characters in this chapter, including Neal in glasses and Mozzie in a bowtie. Theresa was introduced way back in chapter 8 of this story. Neal being mistaken for Harry Potter at a party happens in my story “By the Book” and later in that story he does introduce Henry as Ron.
> 
> If you’re a Doctor Who fan, you probably recognized Mozzie’s comment about bowties. This story is set before the show’s reboot, so I can’t have the characters acknowledge the quote.


	40. The Sting Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a disclaimer here that I’m not a legal expert, and not an expert on the music industry.

**Theo Guy’s studio, New York City. Sunday afternoon. July 25, 2004.**

Neal and his cousins spent most of Sunday at Theo Guy’s studio. They were joined by Samantha Weston, Cassie Blanca and the musicians June had arranged for backup. According to their contract Urban Legend was supposed to be working on an album, and Masterson rep Charlie Vensen and their PR liaison Theresa stopped by to check on their progress and to take photos.

Michael Darling had agreed to let them use the Christmas song he’d written. They recorded two versions. The first featured only Urban Legend, and the second included Local Devastation lead singer Ty Merchant on vocals, and Michael Darling on piano.

“At the end of this year we’re going to release a recording of last night’s concert,” Ty said. “If you don’t actually produce an Urban Legend album, I’d like to include this song as a bonus track on our album.”

The cousins agreed with his suggestion, thrilled that their experiences would be recognized in an actual, released recording.

Around 5pm the backup musicians and singers headed home. Henry stretched and prowled around the room while Theo mentioned options for tweaks to the recording. Angela listened with rapt attention, more relaxed than Neal had seen her in weeks. This was the part of music she loved – the theory and small, intimate performances. She appeared ready to work with Theo for hours. Henry, on the other hand, looked like a caged lion searching for an escape.

“Henry, are you good with letting Angela handle things here?” Neal asked.

Coming to a stop, Henry glanced at Angela. “Yeah. I guess you don’t need me.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “We’ll always need you, but I’ve got this covered.”

Henry turned to Neal. “I haven’t been to Weston’s music shop in a while. You wanna drop in?”

Neal agreed and they walked outside to hail a cab.

On the way to the music shop Henry said, “You never told me about you and Yvette.”

“Not much to tell. It was a mistake, on both of our parts. I let myself believe she really wanted me, but she was looking for the closest thing she could get to you. For a few days I lived the fantasy.”

“Fantasy?”

“Of being… I dunno… Better than you? Most of the time I was happy being your kid brother, traipsing after you, but sometimes I wanted out of your shadow. If Yvette had changed her mind, decided she really preferred me to you… But that obviously wasn’t the case, and I couldn’t delude myself about it for long.”

Henry was silent the rest of the drive. When they got out of the cab, he walked into the bar instead of the music shop. He plopped down at a table and ordered a shot of premium Irish whiskey. Neal requested a glass of wine and a couple of appetizers. After the food arrived, Henry finally spoke. “I didn’t mean to make you feel inferior. I never thought of you as anything other than my equal.” He drank the whiskey. “Well, potential equal. I was older and wiser, but I always knew you’d catch up.”

“It wasn’t like I resented you,” Neal said. “Not really. I was grateful for everything you’d done and had a blast with you most of the time. It’s just that you had so much charisma that sometimes I was in awe. Most days I knew I’d catch up, like you said, but every once in a while I had doubts.” He ate a couple of steamed mussels. “It’s not an issue anymore, in case you were wondering.”

Henry tried the onion rings and ordered another whiskey. “What I don’t get is why you didn’t say anything about Yvette. When you met Kate you wouldn’t shut up about her.”

“I loved Kate. With Yvette… Well I described her as an anvil that crushed me like a cartoon character, and Peter guessed right away that it was my ego that got squashed, not my heart.”

“Hold on. You talked to Peter about this, and not me?”

Neal shrugged. “Right place, right time. You were in the wind, and Peter… Well, Peter was here.”

Henry drank the second whiskey and raised his hand to call the waiter over.

“Listen, it’s not a big deal,” Neal said. “We’re both grownups now. We have different careers in different cities. It’s not like when we were living out of your car or sharing an apartment at DePaul. But you’ll always be like my brother. Nothing’s going to change that. And getting drunk isn’t going to change the fact that Peter’s someone I trust, someone right here I can talk to. Back in January you were all for making Peter a father figure, remember?”

“Maybe I didn’t think through the repercussions.”

“He hasn’t replaced you.”

The waiter stopped by the table. “Another whiskey, sir?”

Henry looked at Neal. For the first time, Neal felt like the older brother as he said, “Check, please.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

On Monday Angela went back to Theo’s studio. They thought someone should make a show of being there working, in case a Masterson rep stopped by again. Henry went to the Federal Building with Neal and Yvette.

Ilsa Hughes also joined the morning briefing, and Neal was surprised to see the difference in her husband. Normally Reese Hughes seemed stern and humorless, but around his wife he softened a bit and smiled more.

After the briefing, Ilsa met with Jones and Yvette to review the Masterson contract, which Travis had downloaded from the scanner. Today’s Yvette wasn’t the silly girl she’d played at Masterson. She was focused and driven. She turned down an invitation to go to lunch with Neal and Henry because she wanted to keep working.

“There’s a good Chinese place down the street that delivers,” Neal offered, and with Henry, Peter, Jones, Travis and Tricia, he joined the legal experts for takeout in the conference room.

As they ate, Ilsa described what they’d found so far. “The terms are clearly unethical, and some parts are on sketchy ground, legally. I don’t think you could get a conviction against the company for drafting those terms, but the musicians who signed these contracts should be released without penalty. We can definitely accomplish that. I’ll start the paperwork to set the process in motion.”

“That’s great news,” said Neal. “Helping musicians was always our main goal.”

“But are you saying Stan Masterson skates by?” Henry asked. “After everything, he’s still a free man?”

“It would be next to impossible to prove that he had a hand in the exploitive terms within these contracts. His background isn’t law, and he could easily claim ignorance of the details of their standard agreement,” Ilsa said. “However, these contracts do promise certain shares of profits to the musicians, and I understand the company hasn’t lived up to their end of the deal.”

Peter put down his chopsticks. “Now that we know the rates promised in the contracts, we can subpoena financial statements from Masterson. From what Julia Winslow tells me, proving that Masterson underpaid their clients will be a slam dunk. Stan will lose his job over that alone.”

“Still not jail time,” complained Henry.

“There’s also the piracy,” Peter said. “That in combination with everything else proves there’s more going on than could be excused as sloppy accounting. It proves an intent to break laws and to defraud clients. The fact that Stan has led the negotiations with the pirates and met with them personally proves he’s culpable. That’s where we’ll get the conviction.”

“It will take time and patience,” Ilsa warned. “These cases can drag on for a long time, especially with the powerhouse legal team he’ll assemble in his defense. But in the end, the evidence is irrefutable. I’ll work with the prosecutor myself on a plan of attack to make sure we get a conviction.”

“Plus we can charge the company with threatening businesses like Theo’s studio,” Travis offered. “I don’t know if we can prove Stan was behind it, though.”

“We’ll have our best interrogators talk to the people in the company who are responsible. It’s very possible they’ll point to Stan as the instigator,” Peter said, “especially when they realize that Stan’s the focus of other charges. They’ll have less incentive to protect him if they realize he’s already going down.”

“I’m definitely looking forward to those interrogations,” added Tricia. “As soon as the news breaks about the charges against Stan and Masterson Music, my top priority is going to be contacting people we suspect were victims of the extortion. I’ll gather all the details and make sure they get justice.”

“I’ve got the lead on contacting the musicians on contract with Masterson Music,” said Jones. “In addition to criminal charges, they may want to file a civil suit for damages. If I find enough victims, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the company put together a hefty fund and offer a settlement.”

Everyone had finished eating. Neal gathered up the remnants, and Henry helped. When they were disposing of the trash and recyclables in the breakroom, Neal said, “This is a win. With everyone involved up there, and all the charges we’re going to bring against Masterson, he’s going down.”

“I know,” said Henry. “And we couldn’t have pulled all of this off, not on our own. You were right to involve them. But there’s still something missing.”

Neal had been afraid of this. Justice – as defined by the FBI – wasn’t enough for Henry. He knew so many of the victims, he couldn’t help taking their suffering and losses personally. He wanted Stan to suffer in return. Now. “Give it time,” Neal advised. But he understood where Henry was coming from. It had already taken years to get to this stage. “It’s out of our hands now, but the progress won’t stop. In the end Stan will pay for what he’s done.”

Yvette interrupted. “I’ve got to catch my flight back to Austin,” she said. She hugged Neal. “Thanks for including me in your crew. This was the most amazing experience. I’m in awe of Ilsa Hughes. This morning when I mentioned how much I enjoyed helping with the case, she complimented my work. She actually said I have an affinity for entertainment law.” Yvette closed her eyes in a moment of bliss. “And that’s not all. She said she’ll introduce me to people at the firm where she used to practice, and she’d be willing to mentor me. This has been the best summer ever!” She squealed softly and then hugged Henry, too. “I even forgive you for ignoring my blatant crush all these years.” She rushed away before he could answer.

“I think I’m not engaged anymore,” said Neal.

“Theresa will be happy,” Henry said. “She told me it’s easier to market singers who are single. At least when they’re young and good looking, like me.”

“And here I am, younger and better looking.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Around noon on Monday Mozzie kicked off the plan that he, Neal and the Suit had outlined Saturday. He met with a snitch in one of the companies that was a front for music piracy, and warned him that the FBI was showing interest in them. “Watch out,” Mozzie had warned. “Suddenly piracy is a big deal for the government. Someone has plans to clean things up and then base a re-election campaign on it.”

The snitch scurried away to warn his superiors, and Mozzie called Neal. “The cuckoo has landed.”

Then Mozz went online to do some research. He’d noticed the music memorabilia in Stan Masterson’s office. Lots of autographed album covers were framed on the wall. Other offices had music-related artwork, but nothing looked as personal as what he’d seen in Stan’s office. Some of those autographs were signed to Stan.

It didn’t take long to figure out that each time Stan needed an infusion of cash, he sold a rare, stunningly expensive piece of memorabilia. It’s how he got the startup cash to buy his first record company, and how he’d financed the expansion of Masterson Music over the years. Signed album covers were the least of his collection, which purportedly included pages of sheet music penned by Mozart himself.

Mozzie’s heart fluttered at the thought of getting his hands on that. He even looked up information about Stan’s home, learning that a state-of-the-art display room had been added shortly after the home was purchased two years ago. It even had a fire suppression system that sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

He wanted to call Neal and plan a trip to Chicago. Together they could break into Stan’s house and plunder that display room. The man didn’t deserve such treasures. Depriving him of his fortune in memorabilia now would also make things more difficult when Stan was arrested. How would he fund his defense if he lost the items he’d sunk his fortune into?

Unfortunately he already knew what Neal would say. No breaking-and-entering unless it was part of an FBI case. No conning Stan out of his fortune, either.

Mozz sighed, filled with a sense of ennui. The longer Neal worked for the suits, the less likely it seemed that he’d return to the adventure-filled days of yore. If only he could go back in time, before Neal joined the Feds, and pull off this one score. Or perhaps cloning was the answer, creating a version of Neal less restricted by a desire to please his FBI overlords.

That reminded him of the test he’d run with a strand of Henry’s hair. The cousins were a close biological match. Closer than cousins, truth be told. More like half-brothers, due to the fact that their mothers were identical twins. But the cloning theory had been a bust. Neal wasn’t Henry’s clone.

But Henry… He was certainly more of a rebel than Neal these days. He lacked Neal’s skills at safecracking, alas, but he was probably more fixated on Stan Masterson and more open to alternative definitions of the term “bringing him to justice.” Stan deserved more than simply being arrested.

Sure enough, Henry had several interesting ideas when Mozzie called him.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

“Listen, you don’t need me. I’m out of here,” Henry said.

Neal wished he could say the same, but he was stuck in the office for the duration of the op. This time Travis took the lead. His contacts in the telecommunications industry had informed him that the hotel where Stan Masterson was staying was upgrading their telephones. Technicians would be going from room to room later that afternoon, swapping out old phones for newer models. Travis had one of those phones in the lab and was placing a Bureau bug in it. Then he’d don the uniform of the technicians contracted by the hotel. He’d do the swaps of phones on the floor Masterson was staying on.

When Mozzie’s rumors caused the music pirates to panic, the hope was that they’d call Masterson to talk about their options. If they called the room phone, the bug would pick up both sides of the conversation. If they called his cellphone, at least the recording would get Masterson’s comments. Henry had suggested using the cellphone blocker his father had used at Enscombe to increase the chances of a landline conversation. Peter had Jones looking into the legality of using the blocker under the warrant they’d been granted, but he said it wasn’t likely to be approved.

Both Neal and Henry had volunteered to go undercover to replace the phone. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. The most technically complex aspect was placing the bug, which Travis would complete any moment now.

“No,” had been Peter’s immediate response to the idea of either cousin entering Masterson’s hotel room. “You’ve gotten too much press as Urban Legend to take the chance. If Masterson sees you, he’s likely to recognize you. That will make him suspicious, and we’ll lose our advantage.”

And so Neal was confined to the office, where Peter could keep an eye on him. Henry was another matter. He wasn’t an employee and wasn’t under arrest, meaning he was free to leave. Around 3pm he announced he was bored. “I should see what Angela’s up to,” he said. “She’s at Theo’s studio, and Michael Darling’s supposed to be giving her lessons on some kind of keyboard technique. If I don’t keep an eye on them, that track we recorded might turn into an instrumental featuring the two of them, and listeners will be deprived of my vocals.”

When the elevator closed on Henry, Peter asked Neal, “Why do I get the feeling there’s something he isn’t telling us?”

“He’s not bored,” Neal said. “He’s antsy. Sitting and waiting has never been his strong suit. If he stayed here, he’d drive us all crazy.”

“You don’t think he’s up to something?”

“He’s always up to something, but he wouldn’t do anything to endanger the op. He knows you’re right that Masterson would recognize us – especially Henry. Being interviewed by Tom Brokaw isn’t exactly keeping a low profile.”

“I’m torn between wishing I’d sent you along to keep an eye on him, and being glad you’re not getting dragged into whatever he’s going to do next.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

“Thanks, Theresa,” said Henry. “I wasn’t sure Mr. Masterson would be able to fit me into his schedule, but I thought I might as well try.”

“It’s your lucky day. Usually he works in our Chicago headquarters, but he visits us at least once a month. He just flew into New York last night. Have a seat,” Theresa ushered Henry into Masterson’s office. “His meeting’s wrapping up. He should be with you in a few minutes. Would you like coffee?”

“No, I don’t need anything.” Henry waited until she walked away, and then approached the wall of artwork in Stan Masterson’s office. The album covers were exactly as Mozzie had described them. Henry had seen them on the tour Theresa gave him on Saturday, but Mozzie had memorized every single album and which ones were autographed.

“That’s my pride and joy,” said Stan Masterson from the doorway. He was a tall man, his thick blond hair lightly salted with gray. He looked authoritative but approachable. In fact, he reminded Henry a lot of his own father. Robert had taken care to give that same vibe at Win-Win.

“With good reason. I saw these when we signed the contracts and I couldn’t stay away. That’s why I’m here. My grandmother adored Elvis Presley. She has a big birthday coming up and I’ve been at a loss what to get her. Any chance you’d be willing to part with this one?” Henry gestured toward the _Elvis in Concert_ album cover.

Stan walked up to the wall and shook his head. “Took me a long time to add that one to my collection. I couldn’t let it go.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. I mean, Elvis died in the summer of ’77 and this album wasn’t released until October of that year. He must have autographed an advance version shortly before his death. I went hunting online for any autographed copies of that album cover, and you can’t get it, not at any price. I have to ask: Where did you find it?”

“You think they’ll have another copy?”

“That’s probably too much to hope for, but they may have other unique memorabilia that my grandmother would love.”

“Probably so,” said Stan. “I got it from a reclusive collector. He wouldn’t be happy if I gave out his name, but I could give him a call and let him know you’re interested. He’ll get in touch with you if he wants your business.”

“That would be awesome. Thanks!” Henry agreeably strolled along when Stan led him back to the lobby. “You’ve got my contact info, right?”

“It’s all in our files,” Stan promised.

“Great. I look forward to…” Henry stepped out of the way of a group entering the lobby and bumped into Stan. “Oops. Sorry about that.” He shook Stan’s hand. “Great meeting you.”

Henry waited until he was a couple of blocks away from Masterson Music before he tossed Stan’s cell phone into a trash can. Looked like Stan would be using landlines until he had time to buy a replacement.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

They knew from Stan Masterson’s schedule that he’d leave the office around 4pm. He would go to his hotel to change into formal attire before attending an industry event at 7pm. The gap of three hours not only allowed for travel time and changing clothes, but also allowed him to make any calls he didn’t want overheard at the office. With help from Collins, who was watching for Stan in the lobby, Travis timed his telephone swaps on the 30th floor of the hotel perfectly. When Stan stepped off the elevator he saw Travis knocking on the door of the room beside his.

Stan knew about the phone upgrades. A note about it had been slipped under the door of each room early that morning. “You done my room yet?” he asked Travis, who was about to use the hotel’s master key to open the door he’d been knocking on.

“No, not yet,” Travis said.

Unlocking his door, Stan said. “Can you get it over with now? Once I get settled in, I don’t want any interruptions. It won’t take long, will it?”

“Not even two minutes,” Travis promised, following Stan inside with three new phones. This was the ideal scenario. He could have entered the room earlier, but being invited inside was best for their case. It reduced the risk of Stan’s lawyers claiming the FBI had entered the room unlawfully. After switching out phones in over a dozen rooms, Travis knew the layout. He unplugged and replaced a phone on the desk, one on the far nightstand, and then a slimmer model in the bathroom. The phone on the nightstand was the most centrally located, and it was the one that was bugged. It should pick up conversations anywhere in the suite except the bathroom, and would be activated if any of the handsets were used for a call. “That’s it,” Travis said. “Have a good evening.” He walked out and closed the door behind him. Then he again knocked on the neighboring door. Still no answer, so he unlocked the door and called out, “Technical staff,” before walking inside.

Travis paused to put on what looked like a Bluetooth earpiece. It allowed him to hear everything the bug was picking up in Masterson’s room. It also recorded everything he heard. Then he swapped three phones in the room. He moved onto the next room, trying not to get anxious about the lack of sound from his earpiece. There wouldn’t be much to hear as Masterson changed clothes. And the calls they wanted to record might not happen until after Masterson returned from this evening’s gala. Travis left the room and knocked on the next door.

He’d completed two more rooms before he heard Stan.

_Damnit!_

There was a rustling sound, then a dial tone as Stan picked up a landline handset. He dialed a number and waited as it went to voicemail. Stan’s own voice answered, and he hung up in the middle of the message.

_Damnit!_

He dialed another number.

_Masterson Music. How shall I direct your call?_

_It’s Stan. Is my assistant still in the office?_

_Yes, Mr. Masterson. One moment, I’ll transfer your call._

A pause. Then a woman said, _Mr. Masterson?_

_Help me, Rhonda._

A sigh. _Mr. Masterson, I’ve told you I’m not a fan of the Beach Boys._

_I’ve misplaced my cell phone, Rhonda. I tried calling it, and it’s not here in my hotel room. Would you check around the office?_

_Of course. Do you remember where you last had it?_

_Not really. Maybe in the executive conference room? I remember making a call in there._

He hung up after his assistant promised to let him know if they found it. About 15 minutes later the phone rang in his suite and he answered. It was Rhonda.

_Sorry, Mr. Masterson. I gathered everyone in the clerical staff and we checked everywhere. Todd even checked the men’s room. There’s no sign of your phone._

_Thanks, Rhonda. I’m going to update the greeting on my phone to have people call you to leave a message if anything urgent comes up. I’ve got that event at 7:00, but I don’t plan to stay long. When I’m back at the hotel I’ll call you to check for messages._

Masterson wrote down his assistant’s cell phone number, and then updated the greeting on his lost phone. Travis called Peter with an update.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

The cousins had dinner with June and updated her on the sting. Angela was still excited about what they had accomplished, and she had more good news to share. “I’ve found a kindred spirit in Theo Guy. He said if I get into Columbia’s music program next year, I can use his studio if I need space and equipment for projects. He said he’s so grateful for what we’re doing on the Masterson case that he wants to return the favor.”

“That’s very kind,” June said.

Henry looked skeptical. “You aren’t falling for this guy, are you?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “No. For one thing, he’s old. He must be like nearly 40 or something. He’s like a friend, a mentor I guess.”

“And what’s the other thing?” Henry asked.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m burned out on musicians. Next time I start dating someone, I want him to be able to talk about something other than music.”

Neal smiled. Their grandfather would be happy to hear that.

“Good,” Henry said. “That way I don’t have to worry that some guy is latching onto you in hopes you’ll further his music career.”

During dessert June mentioned that Byron had amassed an extensive collection of jazz albums, and when the meal was over Henry and Angela started going through it and arguing which album to play first.

Neal hung back, and June invited him to sit beside her on the sofa. “What’s got you looking so blue?” she asked him.

“Meeting a few of the employees of Masterson Music got me thinking about what will happen next. I worked for Adler Financials when Vincent Adler disappeared and his fraud was discovered. It was devastating for the employees. The company collapsed and everyone lost their jobs.”

June nodded. “Byron had the smarts not to invest with Adler. Nothing like a former con man to recognize a deal that’s too good to be true. But you know Masterson Music is very different. Adler’s company had no real assets – the money he promised didn’t exist, and that’s why the investment firm crumbled immediately. But Masterson Music has real assets – talented musicians and their recordings. Those won’t melt away. Someone will take over and reorganize the company. There will be some arrests, and probably some people fired for their roles in the scandal, but most will still have their jobs.”

“What if Stan liquidates the company to pay his legal fees?”

“He can’t.” June looked like the cat who swallowed the canary. “After you told me about Masterson, I started looking into his company. I learned that five years ago the company went public. At first he owned 51% of the shares, but over the years he’s sold most of those shares. The end result is he owns about 13% now. He probably will try to sell that, but he won’t get much. The stock price will plummet for a while after his arrest.”

Neal stared at her. He’d seen the case file and what June was saying was still news to him. “How do you know all of this?”

“Remember when Graham Winslow was here, and you told us he’d met Byron decades ago? Well, we got to reminiscing, and I heard about Graham’s first wife, and his current wife. He mentioned her role in the case, and I thought there might be some overlap with my own interests, so he introduced us.”

“Your interests…” Neal mulled that over. “Are you planning to buy into Masterson Music, after the stock price plummets?”

“Julia and I discussed investing. We have a mutual fondness for music, and a wish to support talented individuals. So few large companies are run by women. I’d like to foster an environment where women can rise to the top, both in management and as musicians. Who knows? Maybe Angela will work for us one day.”

“You’re not just going to invest. You’re going to buy the whole company! Do you have… I mean would you be able…”

“A majority interest, yes. And I realize I’ve been less than energetic since we lost Byron. I know my limits. I would oversee the reorganization, appoint a strong management team, and then stay out of their way.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

The hotel had an empty room on the 30th floor and the manager had agreed to let Travis stay there while he monitored Stan’s room. Peter arrived around 6pm with food. “Anything new?” he asked.

“No,” said Travis as he unwrapped his grilled Portobello sandwich. “He ordered a snack from room service and has been eating in front of the TV.”

Minutes later Stan turned off the TV and called room service to pick up his tray. Then they heard the sound of a laptop booting up. The room phone rang.

_Yeah?_

_Mr. Masterson, this is Rhonda. Someone left a message for you. His name’s Sanders, and he said it was urgent._

_Give me the number._ Stan had to tell her to hold on when the prompt hotel staff arrived to take his tray. Then he finished writing down the number and called Sanders.

_Thank God! We’ve got a crisis here, Masterson._

_What the hell? Everything was fine when we met this morning._

_Yeah, well I got word there’s about to be a major crackdown on piracy, and the FBI has us in their crosshairs._

_You sure about this?_

_Yeah, I’ve been checking into it all afternoon. You remember Ilsa Hughes, right? Legal scourge of the music industry? She was at that fundraising event last weekend. Maybe you heard about it, for the Senator?_

_Son of a bitch. Senators are expensive. It’ll take a major donation to his campaign to make this go away._

_It might be too late. My secretary called the prosecutor’s office. She learned Ilsa Hughes was out all day. She was in meetings with the FBI._

Peter smiled as Travis gave him a thumbs up at that comment, and it only got better from there. Masterson and Sanders conspired to hide their illegal activities, and discussed what they might have to stop doing, at least temporarily.

“Jackpot,” said Peter. “This will bring them both down. It doesn’t get much more damning than this.”

Masterson made a call to cancel his appearance at an industry party that evening. Clearly he intended to stay in the hotel and continue making contingency plans. He started muttering to himself, complaining about the loss of his cell phone and the contact list he stored on it. He seemed to be looking up a number on his laptop. Then he placed another call.

_Frederique’s Antiques. Frederique speaking._

_Fred, damn you! You told me you’d gone legit._

_Stan? What’s the problem?_

_I’ll tell you what the problem is. I paid you a fortune for that autographed Elvis album cover, and it’s another one of your forgeries!_

_Are you kidding me?_

_Do you hear me laughing? Guy stopped by my office this afternoon, musician with ties to a top-notch PI firm called Winston-Winslow, and pointed out how unlikely it was that Elvis signed the cover for an album released a couple of months after his death._

Peter’s eyes widened. Henry had gone to Masterson Music? He’d said he was going to check up on Angela at Theo’s studio. Correction, he’d said he _should_ check up on Angela. What kind of wrench had Henry thrown into the works now?

It soon became clear that Fred was a forger who had turned his talents to memorabilia. At one time he’d been partners with Stan, who did the research about which items would bring the most money. Stan had been paid in forged autographed items and sold some of those when he needed cash. Fred had supposedly given up the forgery racket and now ran a legitimate shop, but apparently he hadn’t been able to resist one last score – selling Masterson a forgery.

Stan was incensed. He needed cash to bribe a Senator – or to make a generous donation in the hopes the Senator would derail an investigation into piracy – and now had to worry that Henry would put together the pieces and tell the world that at least one item in Stan’s prized collection was a fake. If that became common knowledge, his entire collection would be tainted. Any item he tried to sell would undergo intense scrutiny, and it seemed that most of his collection wouldn’t pass muster.

This would make raising money for his legal defense much harder.

When Stan hung up on Fred, Peter made his own call. “Tricia, when you get into the office tomorrow, I need you to look up any sales of music memorabilia from Stan Masterson’s collection, going back at least ten years. We’re going to contact each purchaser and recommend they have the items authenticated. We’ve recorded Stan implicating himself in the sale of forgeries.”

“His insurance company will be interested, too,” Tricia said. “If he claims to have a fortune in memorabilia, he probably has insurance for it. Overstating the value of his collection would be a concern from their perspective.”

Next Peter called Neal. “We’ve got him. Stan Masterson made phone calls about the piracy, with plenty of details. First thing in the morning we’ll get a warrant for his arrest.”

“He won’t try to flee the country?” Neal asked. “That’s a risk when you put pressure on a mark.”

“He’s a suspect, not a mark. And I’d say it’s unlikely. He has no idea how bad things are looking right now. But Travis will keep watch. One more thing. Did you know Henry went back to Masterson Music this afternoon?”

“He did what? He said… Oh, he said he _should_ check on Angela.”

Peter filled in the details.

“That sounds like Henry. Is he in trouble?”

“He should be, but I can’t justify it. He didn’t hurt our case. If anything, he made it easier to put pressure on Stan.”

“But you aren’t happy about it.”

“Not as happy as I’d be if he’d kept me in the loop.” There was a pause. “Didn’t you say Henry taught you how to pick pockets?”

“Yeah, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“We were able to record both sides of Stan’s phone calls this evening because he used the hotel’s phone. Travis tells me Stan lost his cell phone sometime today. Hell of a coincidence, that happening right when it was most convenient for us.”

“Yes, that’s an amazing coincidence,” Neal agreed.

“If I searched Henry’s room there at June’s place, would I find the missing phone?”

“Of course not.”

Peter sighed. “You’re going to check and make sure there’s no evidence, aren’t you?”

“I can promise you that in the hypothetical case of Henry taking the phone – instead of the loss being as we agreed, a coincidence – Henry wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep it.” He paused. “Now, if it had been Mozzie…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Peter decided.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**  

Early Tuesday morning, the FBI simultaneously raided the Masterson Music offices in New York City, Los Angeles, Memphis and the Chicago headquarters. Stan Masterson was arrested, along with his accomplice Sanders, an executive in a company long suspected of music piracy. The proprietor of Frederique’s Antiques was also taken into custody, and seemed more than willing to implicate his former partner in crime.

A few hours later Stan was bailed out, but he was also placed on a watch list to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. The board of Masterson Music put him on leave, banning him from the offices while they looked into the FBI’s allegations. Meanwhile their stock plummeted, as June had predicted, and she began purchasing shares at a bargain price.

They let Angela share the news of the arrest with Theo Guy. Henry went to Randy Weston’s music shop to tell Samantha, followed by calling the Garzas and Hunters in Austin. Neal told Mozzie and then called Cassie Blanca with the news. Tricia coordinated with Diana Berrigan in D.C. Since this case covered multiple jurisdictions, the Office of Public Affairs was handling the press release about the raid and arrests.

In a trial partnership, the FBI was storing the electronic files they seized from Masterson on Winston-Winslow servers. They would also scan the paper documents for storage on those same servers. Algorithms pioneered by Julia Winslow would be used to analyze the files and find the data most relevant to the case. If successful, this approach would save hundreds or even thousands of hours reading through the files. It would result in bringing Masterson to trial sooner. Knowing the raid and arrest was imminent, Graham Winslow and Allen Winston had taken the train to New York Monday night to sign the deal with the FBI. They were in meetings much of the morning with Reese Hughes and Clinton Jones, who would be the FBI contacts for the effort.

With the case wrapped up from her perspective, Angela planned to return to her University of Washington apartment. She’d spoken with her mother Monday night, and Paige had flown her private plane up from D.C. The two of them planned to fly to the Pacific Northwest Tuesday afternoon.

It started out as a day of celebration for Neal’s crew in the sting. They had the evidence they needed to bring down Masterson. For the members of Urban Legend, the stress of playing their roles and the continuous performances was over. June pulled some strings with an upscale restaurant to reserve a private room where members of the FBI team and Neal’s crew gathered for lunch.

Midway through the meal, Tricia’s cell phone rang and she stepped outside to take the call. She returned looking grim. She pulled Peter, Neal, Henry and Graham aside to tell them, “That was Agent Yoshida. He told me that the Coast Guard will arrive in Seattle with Robert Winslow tonight.”

_Finally_ , thought Neal. As happy as he’d been about Masterson’s arrest, putting Robert in prison would be even more satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading, and special thanks to Silbrith for inspiring the memorabilia thread. Henry’s comment about his grandmother being an Elvis fan was inspired by my own grandmother -- some of my earliest memories are of her singing Elvis songs.
> 
> Robert is a wily character. Arresting him won’t be simple or straightforward. And of course Henry’s unpredictable. Peter and Neal will have their hands full in the next chapter.


	41. Hide and Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an OC death.

**White Collar Division, Federal Building, Manhattan.  Tuesday afternoon.  July 27, 2004.**

“Maybe he’s playing Tuesday Tails?” Tricia suggested when Neal asked if she’d seen Henry.  After lunch everyone had gathered into vehicles, carpooling back to the Federal Building.  All the drivers had returned, and Henry was nowhere to be found.

Actually, there was one driver who’d had another destination, Neal remembered.  Angela’s mother – Paige Caffrey – had taken Angela back to June’s mansion.  They were going to pick up Angela’s luggage and then return the rental car at the airport.  It was possible Henry caught a ride with them.  He might want to hole up in his room at June’s and prepare mentally and emotionally for the upcoming confrontation with Robert.

Or…  Neal texted Angela, and a moment later she called him.  “Yes, Henry’s with us,” she said in a hushed voice.  “He’s in the entryway here at June’s place, helping Mom with the luggage, including his.  He sweet-talked Mom into taking him to Seattle with us.  I was a little worried about that.  Uncle Robert’s due back in Seattle soon, right?  Do you want me to find an excuse to leave Henry behind?”

“No,” Neal decided.  “He’d just find another flight.  I like that you’ll be able to keep an eye on him this way.  But can you delay things a bit?”

“Sure.  Mom said we could wait to top off the fuel tanks here, or land in Chicago to refuel.  I’ll tell her to go with the second option.  That’ll add to our travel time.”

“Thanks,” Neal said.  “The longer you can make him to stay with you, the better.  I’ll try to get to Seattle as soon as I can.”

Angela promised she’d do her best, and after they hung up Neal walked up to Peter’s office.  Graham Winslow was there, and it looked like they were having an intense conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Neal said as he opened the door, “but I thought you’d want to know Henry’s on his way to Seattle.”

“That settles it,” said Graham to Peter.  “It’s too late to keep the whippersnapper away, and I’m a private citizen.  You can’t prevent me from going to Seattle.”

“Do you have a flight booked?” Neal asked.

“Friend of mine has a plane up here, and offered it and his pilot when I called him an hour ago.  He’s filing the flight plan, and I’m leaving in a moment to check out of my hotel.” 

“Can you take another passenger?  I’ve got a bag packed and ready to go, if we swing by June’s.”  Neal caught Peter’s surprised glance and shrugged.  “Flight instinct and old habits.  I always keep a bag packed.”

“I’d rather you stay here,” Peter said. 

“Yeah, and you could force the issue, threaten to fire me or whatever.  But Henry needs help.  Obviously he isn’t thinking clearly.  Why hitch a ride with Paige and Angela, when his grandfather is here?  Graham obviously would have a plan to get to Seattle and would have been willing to take Henry along.”

Graham nodded.  “I’d feel better if you went along to help me keep him under control.”  He stood up.  “You got a bag packed, Peter?  There’s space for you, if you don’t slow us down.”

“I keep a duffle bag in the locker room here for emergencies, and I’ve already told Hughes what’s going on.  He’ll let the Seattle office know I’m on my way.  Let’s go.”

On the drive Peter called El to tell her he’d be out of town for a day or two.  Neal pulled out his cell phone and dialed as he walked into June’s mansion.  “Noelle?” he said when his aunt answered.  “It’s Neal.”  He jogged up the stairs to his loft.  “We’ve learned that Robert’s supposed to arrive in Seattle tonight. I’m flying out there with Peter and Graham for the arrest.”

“And Henry?”

“He beat us to the punch.  Paige is taking Angela back to the University of Washington, and he’s gonna be on their plane.”

“Why not go with you and Graham?” Noelle wondered.

Neal opened the door to his apartment.  “No idea.  I’m kind of worried about him, actually.  I’m afraid he’s gonna rush into something without thinking it through.”

“Yes.  Robert does push his buttons.  You know, when we went to Seattle for Angela’s birthday, I skipped the trip to Mount Rainier, and I’ve regretted not spending more time with my niece.”

“Maybe you should go back?” Neal asked as he picked up a small suitcase.

“Exactly what I was thinking.  I won’t get in your way, but if any of you need help, I’ll be nearby.”

“That’s what I hoped you’d say,” Neal said.  “I’ve got this feeling you should be there.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**     

Thanks to the delays Angela and her mother had arranged, Graham, Peter and Neal arrived in Seattle first.  Peter rented a car and went directly to the Seattle offices of the FBI, while Neal and Graham waited for Henry to catch up with them.

Henry didn’t seem surprised to see them, and on the drive to the hotel Graham had selected, Neal asked, “What were you thinking, rushing off with Angela instead of waiting for us?”

“We’d talked about how you wanted to be here, and that Peter would try to make you stay in New York.  I’d pondered that issue the last week or so.  I realized if I did something like this – something that made everyone think I wasn’t using all my brain cells – Peter would be more open to bringing you along.  He’d want all the help he could get to keep me from doing something insane.”

Neal was glad to hear his cousin was thinking rationally, but realized that didn’t preclude insane behavior.  “Are you hoping that I’ll stop you, or that I’ll enable you?”

“Not sure yet,” Henry admitted. 

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**     

Three hours later Peter was back at the FBI conferring with Agent Yoshida.  Neal, Henry and Graham met Angela and her mother at Angela’s favorite restaurant – Flying Saucer Pizza.  Neal and Graham were venting their frustrations day until their names were called out.  Henry got up with Neal to carry the piping hot pizzas to their table. 

“How did Robert get away?” Paige asked.  She topped off her beer from the pitcher they’d ordered for the table.

Henry grabbed a slice of the pepperoni pizza known as the Red Planet.  “While Robert and the pilot were on the island, waiting to be rescued, they did a lot of talking.  Robert had a bundle of cash on him, and promised the pilot even more if he’d agree to swap places when the Coast Guard arrived.  All this time, they were holding the pilot prisoner and letting Robert roam around free.  Robert told them he was nervous about the handoff to the FBI because he thought the prisoner might be dangerous.  The Coast Guard felt sorry for him, I guess.  Or maybe they were eager to get rid of him because he’d been seasick for days.  It sounds like he made a point of being sick around them so they were tired of cleaning up after him.  Anyway, they agreed to make a stop before they reached Seattle to let him off.  Last they saw him was in Everett.”

“He won’t be able to get a flight,” Graham said.  “The Feds froze his secret bank account and they know the ID he was using to travel under.”

Neal finished off a slice of the Thai Fighter and decided to try the Spud’nik.  “Right now Peter and the other agents are talking to Robert’s accomplice, Jason Ford.  The Marshals brought him out here yesterday so the Seattle branch of the Bureau could question him.  They think he knows where Robert was hiding out last month when he was here.  Chances are Robert will go someplace familiar while he regroups.”

Fifteen minutes later when Neal’s phone rang, he looked at the caller ID and announced, “It’s Peter,” and the table went quiet.  Neal listened a couple of minutes and then asked Graham if there was a Washington map in the rental car.  Henry ran out to get it.  “I’ll call you back,” Neal told Peter as Henry returned.

They pushed plates out of the way, clearing space on the table to spread out the map.  Neal put a finger on Interstate 5 and followed it south from Seattle, going slightly beyond Tacoma.  “Here.  There’s an empty warehouse down here.  Jason said the manager sometimes stayed the night, and there’s an office space inside that was comfortably furnished, with a fridge and a futon.  He said that’s where Robert stayed last time.”

“I remember it,” Graham said.  “We had a case, maybe two years ago, where someone who used to work there knew about that office and hid there.  That’s how Robert knew about it.”

“That’s near McChord Air Force Base,” Paige said.  “You remember, Angela?  We stopped there a few times when you were in grade school.”

Angela nodded.

“It’s changed a lot since then,” Paige mused.  “David went there for a training mission, a few months before…”  She looked lost in memories.

“Mom?” Angela prompted.

Paige blinked.  “Yes...  Sorry.  I remember he said that area wasn’t doing too well.  Lots of businesses had closed.  The Air Force took over a couple of blocks of empty buildings and used them for training their search-and-rescue teams.”  A ghost of a smile crossed her face.  “And then they had a paintball fight out there.  David’s team won and he was so proud of them, so happy to be leading the next generation of pilots.”

Angela looked ready to cry, and Graham patted her arm.  “It’s getting late.  We should let you get home.”

Insisting that they were fine walking the few blocks to her apartment, Angela hugged everyone goodbye and whispered, “Take care of them,” to Neal before leaving with Paige. 

Graham stood by the car and folded the map.  “Your Uncle David was right about that area.  The warehouse in our case was right in the middle of the zone the Air Force took over.  Made it complicated as hell to get in and extract the guy, because we wanted to get the owner’s approval and didn’t realize we’d be dealing with the U.S. Government.  Took a couple of days to cut through the red tape.  Robert would have remembered that, and he knows when you pit a government agency like the FBI against the military, the paperwork’s going to triple.  He’s counting on that to give him ample time to get whatever supplies he had stashed there and plan his next move.”

“Maybe there’s another way,” Neal suggested, thinking back to the visit from former U.S. Marshal Mike Chan.  Mike had advised using all the resources at Neal’s disposal when they faced Robert.  “It just so happens my godfather is in the Air Force.  He told me to call him if I ever needed help.”

“Trent Lombard,” Henry said.  “Yeah.  He doesn’t like to brag about it, but he’s got a lot of pull in that organization.  He knows how to make things happen.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**     

That call to Trent had worked magic.  He put a senior officer from McChord in touch with Agent Yoshida, and their teams collaborated through the night to bring an op together.

By dawn, the Air Force was patrolling the streets around the warehouse to make sure no one got in or out.  They’d used thermal imaging to confirm there was someone inside the warehouse office, and they’d reviewed surveillance footage to see that the person who’d entered the warehouse that night matched Robert’s description.

On the drive down from their hotel, Peter drilled them on what to expect.  Jason Ford had placed a condition on telling the FBI where Robert was probably hiding: he wanted to go along when they took Robert into custody.  Because Jason was there, Marshal Annina Brandel would be too, responsible for making sure Jason didn’t escape. 

Yoshida, Annina and Jason would go inside the warehouse first, taking cover and calling out to Robert to surrender peacefully.  Peter, Graham, Neal and Henry would be outside the warehouse, standing at the entrance.  Yoshida might call them in if he thought they could help convince Robert to give up.

An Air Force officer stood with them.  He had a monitor showing the feed from a camera inside the warehouse, and they were able to see and hear what was going on inside.

“Mr. Winslow?” Jason called out.  He was standing with Annina behind a shelf about 12 feet from the office door.  The warehouse was still filled with shelving units, which held wooden crates.  The Air Force officer had explained that the space was used for storage, and by filling the shelves they also had a more challenging space for training exercises.  Yoshida was behind a similar shelf, on the opposite side of the aisle leading to the office, his gun drawn.

“We just want to talk,” Jason said.  “I know things don’t look good, but we can turn this around.  There’s always a solution, just like you told me when I started working for you.  Let me help you.”

They couldn’t make out Robert’s response on the monitor, muffled as it was by the office door. 

Jason stepped out into the open, hands raised.  “No weapons,” he said.  “We can talk.”  Annina stood behind him, gun in her hand but pointing at the floor.

The office door opened.  Robert stepped forward, hands empty.  “Damn, it’s good to see you again.”

Jason ran toward him.  Annina lunged forward to grab Jason and missed, stumbling to her knees.  Robert met his protégé with a hug.  Then suddenly he reached behind him and also twisted Jason around.  Now Jason was facing away from Robert, who was pointing a gun at his head. 

Jason looked shocked and scared.  Annina was pointing her gun at them but didn’t have a clear shot while Robert used Jason as a human shield.  Yoshida had stepped into another aisle, also pointing a gun at Robert but unable to fire without hitting Jason.  “Winslow, let him go!” Yoshida ordered. 

Robert’s next words were drowned out by Graham shouting, “No!”  He was looking at the door to the warehouse, which was swinging closed behind Henry. 

Graham followed, and Neal took a step in the same direction.  Peter grabbed his sleeve to hold him back.  Before Neal could argue, Peter said, “Here, take this.”

Neal looked down at the revolver.  “What?”  He looked up at Peter and shook his head.  “I can’t take your gun.”

“It’s my backup piece.  We don’t have time to argue about this, Neal.  Robert is armed, and we know he wants you dead.  When he realizes he’s surrounded, he’s going to be mad and desperate.  He might decide to take you down with him.”  Peter put the gun in Neal’s hands.  “I know you’re a crack shot.  If it comes down to you or him, shoot him.  That’s an order.”

Neal glanced toward the monitor to see Henry approaching Robert, then he nodded and took the gun.

Inside the warehouse, Henry slowly placed his gun on the ground and kicked it away.  “I know you’re mad at Jason,” he said, “but I gotta think you’d rather have me as your hostage.  How about you let him go and we make a swap?”

It seemed to take only seconds to swap out the hostages.  Jason ran toward Annina, who led him outside. 

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**    

Peter and Neal slipped inside the warehouse, took note of the position of Yoshida, Annina and Graham, and took positions in other parts of the warehouse.  If they got enough coverage, maybe one of them could find an angle to make a shot.  Robert pointed his gun at Henry’s head, and his son briefly closed his eyes.

Scuffing his shoes on the floor, hoping the noise would rattle Robert, Peter stepped momentarily into the aisle and got a good look at the situation.  Henry met his eyes, calm and resigned. 

Robert said something they couldn’t hear, but Henry nodded.

Peter just didn’t get it.  The irrational hatred toward Neal was bad enough, but wanting to kill his own son?  How could Robert not be proud of Henry, who had the courage and character to take the place of someone he had every reason to hate?  He’d been afraid of Jason, and jealous of his place in Robert’s heart, but he’d still put his life on the line to save the man.

A glance toward Neal showed he was holding Peter’s backup revolver and looking for a shot.  Graham was in a similar stance, looking for the shot that would bring down his son and spare his grandson.

Peter did the same, aware of the odds against any kind of happy ending here.  Either Neal or Graham would be traumatized if they made the shot.  If they missed the shot, and Henry died, they’d be equally traumatized.

Henry closed his eyes again, and slumped forward.  Was this a ploy to make Robert think he was unconscious?

“That you, Agent Burke?” Robert called out.

“I’m here,” Peter said.  Then he moved a few feet away, in case Robert decided to shoot in the direction of his voice.

“I learned a few things reading about how you impersonated me at that airstrip.  Mix of chemicals in the coat sleeve to knock out a hostage and make sure he won’t escape.  I liked that move.  Put my own spin on it, though.  Don’t want the kid waking up and struggling.”

Peter ground his teeth in frustration.  Sure enough, Robert was holding his arm much higher than he had with Jason.  Henry had been breathing the fumes from that coat sleeve.  If Henry’d had some kind of plan to pacify Robert, he wouldn’t be able to enact it now. 

Annina Brandel returned, and crouched beside Peter.  Neal made his way over.

“Ford?” Peter asked.

“With the officers.  A medic is checking him out, but he’s fine.”  She met Peter’s questioning gaze.  They both knew she should be with her prisoner.  “We’ve got a suspect in here who’s threatened protected witnesses, and a former protected witness.  I’m staying.”  She moved away, and Peter turned his attention back to Graham and Yoshida, who were trying to convince Robert to let Henry go.

Neal went in the opposite direction from Annina. 

Peter looked up and wondered if he could climb the shelving without tipping it over.  Maybe getting above Robert would give him the angle he needed to make the shot.  He was reaching up to try the climb when he heard Neal’s voice and stopped.

“Uncle Robert!”

“What the hell?” Robert asked.  “They let you in here?”

“Yeah.”  Neal stepped away from the cover of the shelves. 

“You’ll be in prison before me.  They’ll never take me alive.  And I’m gonna clean up my biggest mistake before I go,” Robert said, waving his gun at Henry.

“Well, before you go, I wanted to thank you.  It’s because of you that I’m going to college this fall.”

“What’s that have to do with me?” Robert asked. 

Peter crept as quietly as he could in Neal’s direction.  He needed to reach the kid before Robert blew his top.

“Oh, didn’t you hear?  They divested you of your shares in Win-Win.  They’re using the money for my tuition.  I’m gonna study art.”

Robert was shaking in anger.  “You’re lying.”  He turned the gun toward Neal.

Peter saw Annina lining up her shot.  As she pulled the trigger, Peter tackled Neal, sending them both crashing down behind the shelves before Robert could fire.

Neal tried to scramble to his feet, but Peter held him in place.   

“Suspect down,” Yoshida said into a radio.  “Hostage is safe but unconscious.  Send in the medic.”

Peter let Neal stand and together they walked toward a bloody scene.  Robert was clearly dead.  Henry lay unconscious beside him.  Neal took a handkerchief from his pocket and started wiping the blood off of Henry’s face.

“Hey,” said Peter, putting a restraining hand on Neal’s arm.  “Let them process the scene first.”

“No,” Neal insisted.  “He’s not going to wake up covered in Robert’s blood.”

Yoshida nodded, and held up his camera.  “It’s OK.  I’ve got the scene recorded and we have plenty of witnesses.”

Neal’s concern was for naught.  Henry didn’t wake up.  Not in the warehouse, and not in the ambulance.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**    

A woman singing.  A familiar voice, a familiar song.  Familiar smells, too.  A hospital.

“Mom?” Neal said.

The singing stopped on a gasp.

Neal opened his eyes and focused.  He’d fallen asleep on a chair in Henry’s room at St. Joseph’s Hospital in Tacoma.  “That song…”

“It’s a favorite of mine by Carole King,” Noelle said.  “’You’ve Got a Friend’ – I used to sing it as a lullaby.”

“Yeah.”  Neal stretched.  “As a six-year-old in the hospital with food poisoning, I kept asking for the song I heard the last time I was sick, and Mom wouldn’t sing it.  Or couldn’t, I guess.  She probably had no idea what song I meant.  I guess I remembered you singing it on the visit to Baltimore you told me about, right before we went away, and later I mixed up the memories in my head.  I didn’t know who you were anymore, so I thought it was my mom singing.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Noelle said.  “I wish…”  She trailed off.

Neal looked at Henry, who was still slumbering.  All of the blood had been cleaned away by a nurse.  Other than a few bruises, Henry looked fine.  But he hadn’t woken.  “Any change?”

“No.  The lab is testing the chemicals Robert used on him.  The doctors tell me this is partly a physical reaction and partly emotional.  He doesn’t want to wake up and hear that his father was killed to save his life.”

Neal checked his watch.  The day had started so early he felt like it was the middle of the night, but it wasn’t even noon yet.  Of course that was 3pm Eastern time.  “Do they have food here?” he asked.

Noelle nodded.  “They’ll bring a tray for us if we call.”  She reached for a menu on a table beside her and handed it to Neal. 

He read through it, and was pleasantly surprised at the options.  They ordered a variety of things to see what would tempt them.  Visions of Robert’s body on the warehouse floor were overriding Neal’s appetite, but he thought Noelle should eat and therefore would force himself to eat as well to make sure she took care of herself.

While they waited for the food he asked, “Are you OK?  I mean, I know you were divorced, but you loved Robert at first, didn’t you?”

Noelle leaned back in her chair, looking tired.  “For a long time, yes, I did.  At the moment I’m still in shock, I suppose.  There’s a base of relief that it’s over and that I don’t have to worry about him hurting Henry or you or anyone else.  On top of that there’s the guilt about being relieved that someone’s dead.  Add a scoop of regret that he’ll never have a chance to mend his ways and rebuild a healthy relationship with his son.  And sprinkled all over that is sorrow stemming from the memories of our early marriage, back when he seemed to be the perfect husband.  We had some happy times then.”

“Scoops and sprinkles.  Sounds like a banana split.”

“Grief is complex, and you experience it in many flavors.  A banana split is a good analogy.”  She reached over and held his hand.  “And you picked up quite a bit from those psychology classes you took with Henry.  It’s sweet of you to worry about me.”  She let go and picked up her purse, retrieving a sheet of paper she handed to Neal.  “I think we both know I’m not nearly objective enough to be your therapist anymore.  This is a list of therapists in New York who I think you’d like.  The first one does some consulting with the FBI already.  You could request him if you need to talk about anything work-related.”

Neal glanced over the list, then folded it and placed it in his wallet.  He knew she was right, and yet he was surprised how much he already missed their sessions, especially given how much he’d resisted therapy at first. 

They fell into silence as the food arrived, as if it took all their energy to raise up enough semblance of hunger to eat.  When they were ready to give up, Graham arrived.  “Good,” he said.  “Thought I might have to twist your arms to get you to eat anything.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Noelle admitted.  “Are you done for the day?”

He nodded.  “FBI has enough paperwork to drive a man crazy, but my part’s done.  Peter will be a bit longer yet.”  Graham had insisted he wanted to stay busy, and Neal suspected Peter had done his best to distract the man from the loss of his son.  Now he looked at Henry with concern.  “How’s my Tiger?”

“Tiger?” Neal repeated.

“Always reminds me of a cat,” Graham said.  “Even when it looks like he’s lazing around, you know his mind is full of schemes and mischief.”

“Graham and Julia called him _Tiger_ when he was little,” Noelle added.  “And when Meredith dressed you kids up as animals, he seemed to enjoy being a tiger the most.”

Neal nodded.  Graham’s description was apt.  It was unnerving to see Henry so still and quiet, knowing that he wasn’t busy scheming.  Wanting a distraction he said, “I’ve heard some stories from my Caffrey grandparents about what we were like as kids, but I haven’t heard your perspective.  What was miniature Henry like, Pops?”

Graham appeared touched that Neal was still willing to call him _Pops_.  He pulled up a chair and once he was seated let his gaze land on Henry.  Now he looked more fond than worried.  “A couple months before he turned four, our company picnic was rained out.  Everyone gathered on blankets in the lobby of the building to eat, and then we went upstairs for a game of hide-and-seek.  It was always popular with the little ones when they visited the office.  All the corridors and cubicles provided ample hiding spaces.  Over the years – we’re talking decades here – the rules have been refined.  The kids would divide into hiders and seekers.  Grownups would join in, too, for that matter.  I used to tell my investigators that the kids thought in different ways than the suspects we were used to tracking, and playing hide-and-seek with the little ones stretched our minds.  The seekers went to the kitchen for a snack while everyone else hid.  When everyone was found, they’d usually swap places, with the original hiders taking a turn doing the seeking.  Little kids usually lasted a round or two before they needed a nap in a nice quiet executive’s office.”

“Like yours?” Neal asked.

“Well, yes, I’m told my office was well-suited for napping.  Seeing the little ones resting safely around me…  I guess you could say it energized me.  Made me want to keep doing my job and make the world safe for them.”

“It was common to see Graham leading meetings with a baby in his arms,” Noelle added.  “Everyone knew he was a big softie.”

“With a killer instinct for business and investigations, mind you,” Graham added, sounding so much like Henry that Neal had to grin.  “Now the littlest ones, say three or four years old, were usually found first, because they got impatient with hiding.  They’d wiggle and squirm and talk or even sing.  The seekers would grab them and send them back to the parents who’d gathered in the large conference room to play games.  Now it so happened that Henry had been in the office the last couple of weekends.  Something big was going on at the university where Noelle was teaching, and Robert…”  Here his breath hitched.  “He volunteered to bring the boy to work with him.  They’d played a few rounds of hide-and-seek during those visits and Robert, well he was always pushing the boy to try harder, to stay quiet longer and so forth.  Drained the fun right out of it.  So on the day of the picnic, little Henry wasn’t as excited about the game as his playmates were.  He went to the kitchen with the seekers and we almost had to push him out when it was time to start looking.”

“Hard to imagine,” said Neal, thinking of rounds of the Hospital Game over the years, Tuesday Tails last week, and a host of other times they’d merrily chased each other well into their twenties.

“One of the rules of the game was that if someone had their office door closed, it meant they were working and didn’t want to be disturbed.  The kids avoided those offices, and weren’t allowed to close doors behind them if they hid in an office.  On that day, Julia had gone into her office.  We’d been married about eight years by then, and everyone still held her in awe.  She was so brilliant and so often lost in her own world of numbers…  People naturally tended to be quiet and behave around her.  My kids were still afraid to shove an infant in her arms, for fear she’d get distracted with an abstract math problem and put a baby down someplace unsafe.  Not that she ever did anything like that, of course.”

“But we honestly didn’t know if she liked children or not,” Noelle said.  “She didn’t jump into the games with the kids, and we didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, so we didn’t push her to join.  Her quiet nature didn’t seem like a fit with the cheerful madhouse of Win-Win events.”

“We’d gotten to the end of the round of the game, and realized Henry was missing.  These things happened occasionally.  A young seeker would get tired and plop down for a nap someplace.  A group of us went looking and I knocked on the door of Julia’s office to ask if she’d seen the boy.  And there he was, sitting on her lap and chatting with her.  He was clearly well-entertained, and much to my relief she seemed quite engaged in the conversation and not annoyed at all.  Unlike Robert.  He started telling Henry he’d failed by quitting the game.  You could see the boy’s upper lip quiver and I expected him to start crying any minute, but Julia stood up and said Henry had found her right away and she hadn’t realized they shouldn’t stay in her office.”

“Robert was sputtering, saying that Julia never played,” Noelle added.  “And in that proper British voice of hers, she said she always played when she was invited, and Henry had been the first to invite her.  She took him by the hand and they strolled into the kitchen to join the next round of the game as partners.  She said she needed Henry as a partner to tell her what to do since she’d never played before.”

“He took that so seriously,” Graham said.  “Making sure she stayed with him and didn’t get lost as he told her what to do.  And she kept a straight face the whole time.  After that, playing with partners became part of the game.”

“He introduced the concept of an accomplice,” Neal said.  “Not bad.”

“I was impressed,” Graham said.  “Julia was, too.  She told me later that his approach to seeking his cousins was quite advanced for his age, and she wrote an algorithm based on it to find where meaningful data was ‘hiding’ among less useful bits of data.”

“Turns out Julia was wonderful with the children.  She didn’t want to be pushy, thinking we didn’t trust her.  But in fact she’d worked as a nanny when she first left the university.  She said toddlers gave her useful insight into chaos and patterns, and that experience inspired some of the first papers she published.”

“You know, she reminded me a little of Mary Poppins,” Neal said, thinking the comment would bring a smile.

“She used to say, Robert could do with a spoonful of sugar,” Graham said, his breath catching in a sob. 

Noelle put an arm around him as he cried.  “It’s OK, Graham.  It’s OK.”  Her eyes were filled with tears, too.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**    

Peter breathed a sigh of relief when Graham returned to the hospital.  The man’s stoicism was cracking, and Noelle would be much more adept at dealing with things when it finally crumbled.

Still, Peter almost wished he could leave with him.  Sometimes it seemed the FBI specialized in paperwork, and it increased drastically when there was a fatality. 

Another hour had melted away to paperwork when Annina Brandel stepped into the conference room he’d been using as an office.  “Agent Burke, thanks for supporting me in your official statement.  I’m glad you didn’t kick off an interagency feud with the Marshals about my presence and role in the shooting this morning.”

“I’m not a fan of feuds,” Peter said. 

“If you see Neal, tell him I was impressed at the way he drew Robert’s attention.  That distraction he provided made all the difference.  It’s obvious Robert was planning a version of suicide-by-cop and intended to take his son with him.”

“Yeah, it was impressive.  And I hope to God he never does something like that again.  Neal’s a consultant, not an agent.”

“True.  But you did give him a weapon.”

Peter nodded, thoughts swirling through his head.  Neal, at Masterson Music, saying that Texas was home.  That statement matched the birth certificate the Marshals had issued him in December.  But that document was a fiction.  Neal had said something recently about being born in Baltimore and being confused about why he hadn’t been born in the D.C. area instead.

There was no way Peter could praise Neal for taking that risk this morning.  Others would.  Annina, and Hughes perhaps.  Peter couldn’t.  If he tried, he’d trip over the fear and emotions that accompanied watching Robert’s attention and gun swing toward Neal.  But maybe he could do something else to let the kid know he was appreciated.  Something to increase his sense of roots and family, and to combat that flight instinct that still had his suitcase packed in case he needed to run.  “Are you heading back to New York?”

“Yes.  I’ve turned over custody of Jason Ford to my colleagues here.  I have a flight home tonight.”

“When you get back, could you do Neal a favor and look up his birth certificate?”

“I thought we issued him –”

“The real one,” Peter interrupted.  “The original.  The Marshals would have taken it when he went into WITSEC, right?”

“That’s right.  What does he want it for?  He really shouldn’t use it, you know.  It would invalidate the cover story we invented for him.”

“I understand.  If we could get a copy, I’d make sure he destroys it after he sees it.  It’s just that he’s trying to put down roots, or trying to restore old roots.  Having that document, or seeing it… I think it would make those roots seem more real, more substantial.  Does that make any sense?”

“It’s starting to.  I’m fairly new to the Marshals, but my experience tells me that if I file a request for a copy of the document, it will take months to get to New York.  It simply won’t be a priority compared to the needs of families still under protection.  It would be faster if I filed a request authorizing you access to Neal’s file the next time the Bureau sends to you D.C.  That’s where the original certificate would be.  They’d probably let you make a copy if I submit the right form.”

“I’m due for some training and management meetings at headquarters in a couple of weeks.  That would work.”  Peter stood up.  “Annina, thanks.  Things could have been so much more tragic this morning.  Robert’s son, his father…  Neal as Henry’s best friend, me as a friend to most of them…  Any of us could have shot Robert, and it would have left us reeling.  You making the shot gave us the best option in a bad situation.”  He shook Annina’s hand. “It’s good to have an ally in the Marshal’s office, and I hope you know you have allies in the Bureau now, too.”

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**    

Peter arrived at Henry’s hospital room mid-afternoon, while the doctor was shooing everyone out so she had space to check on her patient. 

Graham’s eyes looked red.  That wall of stoicism must have finally crumbled.  Not sure what to say, Peter patted him on the back.  “How’s he doing?” Peter asked, in the hope that talking about Henry would be safe.

“Nurse was in a few minutes ago and said he’s coming out of it.  That’s why they sent the doctor in.  Noelle summarized everything they told her over the last few hours as he’s been deeply unconscious, sleeping off the effects, and no lasting harm.” 

“Good.  That’s good news.  Umm.  I talked to my team back in Manhattan right after you headed over here.  Allen Winston was there all day working with them, and they umm…  They told him.  He said he wouldn’t tell anyone at Win-Win until you’re ready.”

There was a hitch in Graham’s breath.  “I should’ve called people, right?  Julia.  My other kids.  I just…  That makes it seem real, somehow.  Makes it impossible to ignore how bad it was.  What time is it?”  He looked at his watch.  “Julia will be wondering why I haven’t called.  Excuse me.”  He walked down the hall toward a waiting room, pulling out his cell phone.

Peter watched him sadly.  He’d already called El to tell her about the morning’s events.  That had been wrenching, and she hadn’t even met Robert Winslow.  But she knew Henry and Noelle and had met Graham, and of course she was horrified that Neal had been seconds from being gunned down.

Noelle and Neal had walked away for coffee and returned with a cup for Peter.  He’d had plenty of coffee at the Bureau, but he took it and thanked them for their thoughtfulness.  “Graham’s calling Julia,” he said.

“He’s been putting it off,” Noelle said.  “Telling people about the death makes it seem more real.  It took a couple of hours before I could face calling my parents.  I could tell they wanted to fly out here and join us, but I told them to wait.  Hopefully we can all go home tomorrow.”  She paused.  “Will they… the FBI, that is… will they release Robert’s body soon?”

Peter nodded.  “There’s some paperwork required to return him to Baltimore, if that’s where you plan to hold the funeral.  I filled out most of the form, and was holding onto it until I knew your plans.  Should I go ahead and make the request?”

“Yes, please.  Graham and I talked about it, and we want to hold the funeral in Baltimore.  And, umm… Does one of us need to umm… identify…?”  She couldn’t quite say it.

“No,” Peter assured her.  “None of you needs to go to the morgue.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“I called Angela,” Neal said, picking up the conversation.  “She and Paige stopped by the hospital and stayed a few hours when I first got here.  They plan to come back this evening if Henry’s still here, or they’ll drop by the hotel if he’s released.”

The doctor returned and announced that Henry was waking up.  She pulled Noelle aside to discuss the details and timing for releasing Henry.

Peter followed Neal into the room, where Henry was still asleep but seemed restless.  “Wake up, Tiger,” said Neal.  “That’s right.  I know Graham’s old nickname for you.  I’m going to tell Angela and the teasing will never end.  You know you want to be awake for that.”

“Mmmph,” was the response from the bed.  Peter supposed the sound might be compared to the grumbling of a grumpy, sleeping tiger.

“That sounds promising,” said Noelle, returning to Henry’s side.

“The doctor says he’s going to be OK?” Neal asked.

“’nificent,” Henry muttered.

Noelle took his hand and squeezed it.  “That’s right.”  She smiled at Neal and Peter.  “My mother likes to say we shouldn’t settle for _fine_ or _OK_.  We should be magnificent instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to the Coast Guard for letting Robert escape them; I’m sure in real life they wouldn’t be tricked so easily. I don’t know if the Air Force ever took over abandoned warehouses near McChord for training exercises. Flying Saucer Pizza is an actual restaurant in the Seattle suburbs and the pizzas I named are really on their menu; Silbrith and I relocated it to the U-District because it was so fun to use it as Angela’s favorite. 
> 
> When Julia was introduced, I said she looked like Julie Andrews, thus the Mary Poppins references. Neal’s childhood experience with food poisoning was first mentioned in the story Caffrey Conversation.
> 
> For the guest who commented on FF: I also adore Neal’s boyish charm and sense of mischief. At this point in the story, I want to show that he can be mature when those he loves are facing dark times. Once things settle down, he’ll be able to return to his fun default mode.
> 
> My thanks to Silbrith for her beta services. It’s fantastic to have a writing partner to bounce things off of when it comes to chapters as intense as this one was.


	42. Jiminy Cricket - Part 1

**Noelle Winslow’s townhouse. Baltimore, Maryland. Sunday morning. August 1, 2004.**

Neal yawned and looked at the bedside clock. Almost 10am. He wasn’t surprised he’d slept so late, given everything that had happened the last week. They’d gone to Seattle Tuesday afternoon and confronted Robert early the next morning. Late Wednesday afternoon a groggy Henry was released from the hospital and they returned to New York Thursday morning. Henry stayed only long enough to pack up his guitar and the clothing he’d left in his guest room at June’s home, and then returned to the Baltimore apartment he hadn’t seen in a couple of months.

Peter had told Neal that the FBI offered a paid day off for what they called bereavement leave. Not that Neal felt any grief for Robert, but he did want to provide whatever support he could for Henry. He’d taken the train to Baltimore Friday morning and shown up at Henry’s apartment.

They’d spent most of the day sitting on the sofa, pretending to watch TV. There’d been a constant stream of family and friends and Win-Win colleagues dropping by with food – mostly casseroles – and other offerings of condolence. They’d hug Henry, offer a friendly ear whenever he wanted to talk and then be on their way. It was abundantly clear that Henry didn’t want to talk, so the visitors didn’t stay long. Around 6pm Henry had roused enough to say there was “a thing” that evening, and drove Neal to a park where dozens of Winstons and Winslows had gathered.

After a picnic meal, the kids started playing, and Neal recognized the game of hide-and-seek that Graham had described. Several children had expressed dismay that Henry wasn’t joining the game. A few even gathered around him demanding tricks, and for a while Henry’s old smile returned as he indulged in some sleight-of-hand. Neal got involved, too, and it was the only time he really felt comfortable that evening.

As the sun started to set and the mosquitos started hovering, everyone made their way home. Neal stayed the night on the oversized sofa in Henry’s apartment, and Saturday morning they went to the funeral.

It was only the second funeral Neal had attended, and like Byron’s, this one was packed. After the funeral people gathered in the church’s fellowship hall for coffee, and then there was a procession to the cemetery followed by a brief graveside service as the casket was lowered into the ground.

Then they were on their way to Graham and Julia’s home for lunch and an afternoon of awkward conversation punctuated by a string of visitors stopping by to chat and to ask if they needed anything.

It had been more draining than Neal had expected, and he was sure it was worse for Henry. That evening Henry actually asked Neal to stay at Noelle’s townhouse instead, saying he needed to be alone. “I’d try to put on a brave face for you, if you stay with me,” Henry had explained.

And so here Neal was, waking up in the guest room that used to be Henry’s bedroom. Getting out of bed, he walked to the window and opened the curtains to check out the view – mostly other townhouses with an assortment of trees to provide privacy. A slim desk faced the window and Neal could imagine Henry sitting there and staring at the trees while deciding if he was going to attend Columbia or the University of Texas.

Soon the scent of coffee beckoned, and Neal got dressed to join Noelle in the kitchen.

She handed him a cup of coffee. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Thanks.” Neal drank about half of the coffee and then opened the fridge. “The casserole brigade visited you, too.”

“Yes. I think at least one of those is a breakfast casserole. Scrambled eggs and hash browns and sausage. We can heat it up, or go out for brunch.”

“I’d rather stay in, if you don’t mind,” Neal said.

“We think alike,” said Noelle. “It can be overwhelming, can’t it, the entirety of the Winston and Winslow clans?” She turned on the oven.

“I didn’t realize Graham had four great grandchildren already. I could keep track of who were Robert’s siblings and who were his cousins, but I couldn’t begin to tell you who were Henry’s cousins versus second cousins, or whatever the right term is for kids of Robert’s cousins. When I started meeting the Winstons I gave up trying to remember names.”

“Half of each clan works for Win-Win, and they’ve been friends and coworkers for so long most of them feel like one big family. In the 40 years since the company opened there have been a few marriages between the families, and that makes it even more complex. I saw you talking to Allen Winston at the park,” she said, naming the CEO of Win-Win.

“Yeah, the park. What was that, anyway? A wake?”

“In a sense. A family as big as the combined Winstons and Winslows gets practice with funerals and grieving, and they’ve developed a tradition over the years. Don’t tell anyone, but I call it _the feeding_.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“They mean well. Mostly it’s about making sure the grieving family eats, by providing food and distraction. Sorrow can make you lose your appetite, so they focus on other topics through the meal. Then after the food is gone they start talking about the dearly departed. And since Win-Win is full of investigators and psychologists – some of the nosiest people you’ll ever meet – they start asking probing questions about your emotional state. That often leads to questions about the death, and turns into a feeding frenzy of Jiminy Crickets trying to get all the details of what happened and how you feel about it. They mean well, but it can drive you crazy.”

“That’s why Allen was talking to me. He said he was rescuing me from a swarm of Jiminy Crickets. Somehow they’d found out I was at the warehouse and kept asking if I needed to talk about what I’d seen.” The oven beeped to let them know it was preheated. “Let me,” said Neal, and he slid the casserole into the oven and set the timer. He refilled their coffee and sat down again.

“Do you?” Noelle asked. “Need to talk about what you saw?”

“Henry asked me the same thing Friday night.”

“I’m surprised it took him so long.”

“Me, too. But he was leading up to a request that probably wasn’t easy for him. Since he was unconscious for the last part, he asked me to tell him what he’d missed.” He paused. “I didn’t see it happen. The shooting, that is. Peter pushed me out of the way. I heard the shot though, and saw the aftermath. I told Henry what he wanted to know. That was… It was OK, wasn’t it? It seemed like he deserved to know, and the facts would keep him from imagining something even worse.”

Noelle nodded. “How did he take it? Did he seem all right? I can’t get him to talk about it.”

“Going into Jiminy Cricket mode yourself?”

“What can I say? I fit in well at Win-Win.”

“He seemed OK with it. None of it was really a surprise. He’s just… quiet. He doesn’t want to talk, not to anyone.”

“And how about you? Any nightmares about what happened in the warehouse?”

“A few unpleasant dreams the last couple of nights. Nothing like the nightmares that accompanied my flashbacks.” Not wanting to focus the conversation on himself, Neal said, “Allen Winston also mentioned they’re making some changes at Win-Win.”

“That’s right. It’s been in the works for a while, but they’re rolling it out next month. Well, this month, now. It’s August already. Ever since Robert disappeared and his abuses of power came to light, they’ve been updating policies and some of the computer systems to prevent that kind of thing from happening again. I’ve heard they’ll pay more attention in career planning sessions to stave off the kind of obsession Robert had with taking over the company.”

They talked about Win-Win, covering Noelle’s role on the board of directors and their guesses about when Henry would be ready to return to work. They paused when the timer went off, Neal pulling the food out of the oven and Noelle pouring orange juice. The conversation moved on to stories about college, Neal sharing some of what he’d observed when Henry got his masters, and Noelle describing her own college days. Neal was particularly interested in the time she spent on her doctorate, balancing her studies with work at Win-Win and planning a wedding. He still had concerns about how he’d balance his workload at the FBI with classes at Columbia.

After they were done eating and had put their dishes in the dishwasher, Neal glanced at the telephone. “I feel like I should call Henry, but I know he wants to be left alone. He promised he’d call if he needed anything, or even if he felt lonely.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I want to help, and I don’t know what to do. I can tell he’s getting fed up with the offers everyone’s been making to listen if he wants to talk. I want to _do_ something for him.”

“I know, sweetie. Give him time. You know his birthday’s less than a week away. Mom offered to scale back her plans, but Henry said to go full speed ahead. I think it will be good for him – a chance to be active, both mentally and physically, and to focus on something else. Maybe we can get him to stop brooding and tell us what he needs from us.”

“But for now we let him brood?”

“Mm-hmm. He needs to get it out of his system, and he’ll be annoyed if we interrupt him.”

“You really aren’t going to call or stop by his apartment all week?” Neal asked in surprise.

“I promised I’d limit my mother hen instincts to a few emails a day. As long as he responds, I’ll leave him be. If he ignores me, I’m marching right over there to…” She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Go Jiminy Cricket on him?” Neal suggested.

“I’ll try to be slightly less annoying, but it won’t be easy.”

“Is the _Executive Decision_ nearby?”

“It’s docked about half an hour’s drive from here. Why?”

“If Graham wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hang out on the boat for a little bit. We’ve got a few hours yet before I need to head back to New York. Not actually sail it – I don’t think my one lesson from Graham qualifies me as a sailor yet – but it would be nice to sit on the water and watch the world go by.”

“You think Henry will head to the boat,” Noelle said.

“Just a hunch.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**   

The weather was perfect for lazing about on a boat. It was sunny with a cool breeze. Noelle had brought lemonade, cookies, and sunscreen. Neal chuckled as she double-checked to make sure he had enough sunscreen on his nose. “You’ve got the whole mom thing down, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened. “Too much? I’m probably frustrated that Henry won’t let me mother him, and I’m smothering you instead.”

“No, it’s nice.” He put up his feet. “I’m surprised I’m saying this, but I kind of miss our sessions.”

“We can still talk, you know. Family members talk to each other. It’s almost mandatory. You can call me anytime at all.”

“Just for the pleasure of hearing your voice.” Neal tried the lemonade. Nice and tart. He wasn’t a fan of overly sweet lemonade. “It was weird at first, how much you sound like my mom, but it doesn’t bother me anymore.” He looked at Noelle and recognized that melting-heart look. “ _Oh, sweetie_ ,” he said in chorus with her, and laughed.

“Behave, or I’ll start calling you Baby Bear.”

At the reminder of his grandmother’s pet name for him, he stopped laughing.

“If you find yourself wanting advice, or… or… mothering, then call me. I’ve liked being part of your life, and I used those therapy sessions as an excuse to keep in touch with you long after it was obvious I wasn’t objective enough to be your therapist anymore.”

“I’m glad,” said Neal. “I think I needed that connection at least as much as I needed therapy, and you did help me a lot.” A motion on the dock caught his eye, and he nodded his head in Henry’s direction. “How do you want to play this?”

“He’s going to be annoyed we anticipated him. He won’t like knowing we’re worried about him.”

“How about being worried about me? Once more for old times’ sake, Dr. Winslow?”

She cleared her throat and asked in her most professional voice, “What did your colleagues say when you told them you’ll be attending Columbia this fall?”

Henry had been striding toward them, probably ready to tell them to mind their own business and leave him alone, but he slowed when he heard Noelle’s question. He approached quietly. Obviously he was reassessing the situation.

“Umm,” said Neal. “Don’t get mad.”

“Neal, I’m not here to judge you or get mad at you. I simply want to understand. Do you mean that you still haven’t told them?”

“Yeah,” Neal acknowledged.

“Are you kidding?” Henry said. “What are you waiting for?”

Neal and Noelle didn’t have to pretend to be surprised to hear his voice. Henry had been so silent recently that his outburst now was shocking. Neal welcomed the anger from his cousin, whose emotions had seemed eerily muted this weekend.

“Henry!” Noelle said in a chiding tone. Neal thought it was a smart approach. Showing pity would send Henry back into his morose fog.

“Well, classes start next month, right? He accepted the scholarship from Win-Win and paid for the first semester. There’s no reason to keep it a secret.”

“It’s not like that,” Neal protested. “I’ve been busy with the Masterson case. There wasn’t time to talk about it and now… Well, you’re right. It’s so close to the start of the semester and it’s starting to feel weird that I hadn’t said anything all this time. They’ll wonder why I kept it a secret, so I have to think of the right away to tell them that doesn’t scream I was afraid I’d screw up.”

“So the issue wasn’t only the lack of money?” Noelle asked.

The session was supposed to be a con, but Neal was having a real revelation here. “Back before I met you, sometimes I thought of myself as the un-Midas. It felt like things I touched fell apart, instead of turning to gold. I’ve gotten past that, mostly, but I think that was a big part of not wanting to tell people I was accepted by Columbia. The tuition was part of it, too, but I also worried my shiny new grad school acceptance would turn to dust.”

“Did you think of yourself as unworthy, or just unlucky?” Noelle asked. She patted the bench seat and Henry sat down beside her. He was paying close attention, clearly interested in Neal’s answer.

Neal considered the question. “Some of both, I suppose. When Peter first recruited me, I told someone I had a shot at my dream job. A job at the FBI, immunity, meeting Michael Darling from Local Devastation, meeting June and renting the loft – it all seemed too good to be true. And it kept getting better. Henry introduced me to you and the rest of the Caffreys, and you’re all… You’re amazing. After I passed Columbia’s entrance exams, I thought I was living a dream life. And dreams are fragile and temporary. I was happy, but worried. I couldn’t help wondering: what happens when you wake up? When the dream is so good that it breaks your heart to see it fade away, how do you find the strength to face reality?”

“And don’t forget Peter,” Henry said. “Your dream father figure.”

“He embodied my fantasy of what my father should have been like,” Neal agreed.

“He’s an object of hero-worship,” Noelle said, echoing comments she’d made in past sessions.

“The trouble with that is trying to live up to your hero’s ideals. I was doing everything I could to please Peter, but believed I was doomed to fail. And I wasn’t sure what would happen when I disappointed him. I knew Peter was too fair to fire me for being a personal disappointment, but I didn’t think I could keep doing the job and seeing Peter every day if I let him down. When I learned some of the team were calling me the teacher’s pet, it fed directly into those fears.”

“They did what?” Henry sprang to his feet. “After everything you’ve done, this is ridiculous. I’m gonna talk to Peter. No, Hughes. He has to see reason. You deserve that job.”

“After everything I’ve done,” Neal repeated, determined to keep Henry from interfering, “it’s less of an issue now. These last few weeks, with my part in the Masterson case and also solving your kidnapping, they’ve seen what I bring to the table.”

Henry stopped pacing and Noelle asked, “And the hero-worship?”

“I learned that Peter’s fallible, too.” He told the story of Peter’s attempt to save him from a gambling addiction in Atlantic City. “He meant well, and I’ve forgiven him, after exacting a promise that he won’t invade my privacy like that again. We’re friends now. That’s much more comfortable than holding him in awe.”

“Do you still think the good things in your life are a matter of luck?” Noelle asked.

“Some of them I earned. Some are luck. I mean, what are the chances that Henry would find a runaway in a city the size of Chicago?”

“That wasn’t luck,” Henry protested. “That was pure skill.”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. The thing is, I accept it now. The parts I earned, and the parts I lucked into, they’re mine. I’m not passively sitting by waiting for the next stroke of luck to take it away. I’m doing everything I can to protect and keep the good things in my life.”

“And taking time to enjoy it,” Noelle said.

“Absolutely.” He grinned. “Speaking of which, I think I know how I’m going to tell the team about Columbia.”

For a little while, they kept the conversation going with Henry, and he was his usual self. But as time passed he became quieter. He declined to go along when Noelle took Neal back to the train station.

“I thought we had him back,” Neal said in the car. “It was working, for a while anyway.”

“It was wonderful, Neal. You don’t realize how much you helped him. It’s fine to cheer him up, but you have to let him be sad. He needs to work through his grief on his own terms.” As they neared the train station, Noelle added, “I’ve been thinking about that un-Midas touch you mentioned, turning good things into nothing. Many people would say an artist is the opposite of that. You start with a blank canvas, and turn nothing into art. There’s a magic in that.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**   

Peter spent most of Monday in a conference room, meeting with members of his team one by one to give their midyear appraisals. He should have done this last week, when it was still July, but Hughes had given him an extension in light of the Masterson and Robert Winslow cases.

Next up was Neal. On Friday when Peter had read Neal’s write up of his midyear accomplishments, he’d been impressed and surprised. Neal tended toward verbose in his spoken communications, but his writing style was… Peter thought _succinct_ was the best term for it. Neal’s written case descriptions were as brief as possible. Often Peter had to press him to provide more detail for the files.

Therefore, looking at Neal’s accomplishments, Peter had to wonder where this prose had come from. The description of Neal’s work in the first half of the year was almost flowery. He reread some of it now, wondering if he’d imagined it.

A comment introducing his goals was, “We only hit what we aim for.” Wasn’t that a quote from Thoreau? And so was the summary statement at the end, “If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” The section about the training Neal had taken included a Socrates quote, “Wisdom begins in wonder.”

Peter looked at the date Neal had submitted this document, wondering what had been going on to inspire this. There was something about that date. He thought back to his surprise that Neal had been one of the first to finish writing his accomplishments. When he checked his calendar, his suspicions increased at the reminder of what else had been happening that day. Now he needed to know: was Neal in on it?

Neal walked in, looking sheepish. “Sorry, Peter. I know my accomplishments were due a week ago. I got the first reminder from HR a month ago and thought there was going to be another one. It must have gotten lost in my inbox.”

Peter pushed the document across the table. “Take a look.”

After a few minutes of reading Neal asked, “Did you take pity on me and write it yourself?”

“No. Check the last page. Date and time submitted.” Peter paused and said, “It was the same day you gave your talk about working with street kids.”

“With Henry,” Neal added. “Of course. This has Henry all over it. He loved tossing quotes like these into his papers in college. I’m sure he thought he was doing me a favor. Probably thought he owed me after we rescued him and Angela from Enscombe. Do you want me to rewrite it?”

Peter shook his head. “As far as I can tell, this is a complete and accurate account of what you accomplished in the first half of the year. I’d even recommend using it as a model for your year-end accomplishments. This was clearly written by someone familiar with these kinds of documents, although he went a little overboard with the quotes. My concern is how he got into our HR systems to submit this.”

Neal thought back. “I gave Angela my password to check her email. Later when Henry wanted to do the same thing, I knew better than to give him the password. I logged him in myself.”   He met Peter’s eyes. “My best guess is he got it from Angela somehow.”

“I need you to change your password, to be safe. I don’t think Henry has any motivation to hack into our systems, but we need to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah. As soon as I get back to my desk.”

Peter was about to launch into the standard review, but he paused. “I haven’t talked to you since the funeral. You OK?”

“Sure. I’m fine.”

“How’s Henry?”

The answer to that was longer, encompassing worry and hope, and a determination to keep an eye on his cousin during the birthday party this coming weekend.

“That’s going to be in D.C.,” Peter remembered. “How long will you be there?”

“I’ll leave as soon as I get off work Friday. Noelle asked me to stay through Sunday if I can, and head back Monday afternoon. She told me my grandparents’ anniversary is right after Henry’s birthday. It’s not a big anniversary, and after the major event Dressa is pulling together for the birthday party, they don’t plan to do much to celebrate. But Noelle said the gift Dor and Dressa would love more than anything is spending a day with me.”

“As it happens, I’ll be in D.C. all of next week for a series of meetings and management training. If you drop by before you leave town Monday, I could show you around headquarters.” And if all went according to plan, he’d have Neal’s birth certificate. Annina had followed through on her promise, and Peter had an appointment at the Marshals’ office early Monday morning.

Neal agreed and they set a tentative time to meet. Then Peter gave Neal his midyear review, praising his work and making suggestions of things to try in the second half of the year. “I’m not the only one pleased with what you’ve accomplished so far. Our entire management chain is happy with all of us who worked the Masterson case. That was a big win for the Bureau. Between the evidence you helped us collect and the statements from the employees we interviewed, we’ve made multiple arrests and have confidence that the bad guys are going to jail for a long time.” He turned more serious. “That being said, I’m aware that Henry wasn’t entirely convinced that Stan’s punishment would be sufficient. Have you heard about the fire?”

“What fire?”

“Saturday afternoon, while Stan was meeting with his attorneys, his house caught fire and burned to the ground. The state-of-the-art system that’s supposed to protect his memorabilia failed, and it was all lost.”

“He’d lost his insurance on his collection, right? Tricia told me she’d warned the insurance company most of it was fake.”

“Not only that. The same company had insured his house. They canceled all of their policies with Stan on the basis of his fraud, and he hadn’t had time to get a replacement policy. Between his home and his memorabilia, Stan lost his main assets. I’m told the law firm representing him is substituting their most senior attorneys with more junior people, since Stan’s suddenly unable to pay their rates.”

“You don’t think Henry had anything to do with that? Saturday was the funeral. We were both at Graham’s house all afternoon.”

“True, but someone else in this case hates Stan and all he represents.”

“Umm.”

“Yes?”

“Mozzie did have a firebug phase. But there’s no way he’d destroy that memorabilia. Some of it was legit, and Stan was rumored to have pages of music in Mozart’s own hand. Mozz is a Mozart fanatic.”

“Fanatic enough to break into the house, take the memorabilia he thinks has real value, disable the system so that it looks like everything burned, and then set a fire?”

“Umm.”

A second _umm_ from silver-tongued Neal was a bad sign, Peter guessed. There was something he really didn’t want to say, but knew he should.

After a moment Neal said, “That’s theoretically possible, but you don’t have any proof. If Mozzie did something like that, he wouldn’t leave any evidence.”

“I think it’s best if we don’t involve your friend in any more cases.”

“He’s not exactly eager to have a relationship with the FBI. We can make it work, though. If we ever need his help again, the trick is to be very specific in the parameters we give him. We didn’t tell him _not_ to go after Masterson or avail himself of Masterson’s ill-gotten gains.”

“We shouldn’t have to…” Peter shook his head. “I don’t want to go down that road. Do you have any questions about your appraisal?”

“Well, not exactly. Not about mine.”

“I’m not allowed to talk to you about the appraisals of the rest of the team.”

“I don’t care about theirs. Have you gotten your review yet?”

“Yes, I met with Hughes last week. Why?”

“If anyone gave you grief because of stuff I did, or because you recruited and supported me, well, I’d like to talk to Hughes about it. Let him know I’ll take the heat for it.”

Peter blinked. Would Neal ever cease to surprise him? “No need.” He tried to think of something he could comfortably share from his review to give Neal assurance. “Between the hunt for Robert and the Masterson case, we’ve done a lot of work with Win-Win. The Bureau’s ecstatic, and Hughes knows you were the launching pad for that relationship.” Wanting to change the subject he said, “Remember Agent Diana Berrigan?”

“Sure. She helped me prove Jason Ford was an accomplice in the kidnapping.” Neal frowned. “Is she in trouble?”

“No, she doesn’t need rescuing. In fact, we were so pleased with her work that we asked the Office of Public Affairs to let her be our probie. They agreed she’s a better fit for our team, and she liked working with us. She’s moving up here this month.”

“At last, someone newer than me. Does she need a mentor? I’d be happy to show her the ropes.”

“Don’t get cocky, kid. She may be newer at the FBI, but you’re still the youngest member of the team and you have a lot to learn before you’re ready to be anyone’s mentor. Tricia will be the one to show her the ropes. It’s good for Diana, and helps with the issue you pointed out: that I need to give Tricia more leadership opportunities.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**   

Friday Neal went to work early and skipped lunch so he could leave midafternoon. He caught a bargain-fare commuter flight to Washington, D.C. and took a cab to his grandparents’ home. Tomorrow was Henry’s birthday, and Irene had been planning the party for months. She’d been inspired by Henry’s trip to Ireland, where he sought out some of his Caffrey roots in January. Edmund hadn’t been thrilled that this grandson who had a tendency to disappear for months on end had met one of the itinerant branches of the family, while Irene took a different stance. If they didn’t want the kids chasing after the caravans, why not bring the caravans to the kids?

She’d contacted every Caffrey relative she’d met in over 50 years of marriage, and invited them to a family reunion coinciding with Henry’s birthday. She reserved the whole Cherry Hill Park, with its cabins and spaces for tents and RVs. Groups had been arriving since Wednesday. Some caravan members stopped on their way to the next fair. Some of the more settled family members made a vacation out of it. The park was on the outskirts of D.C., a comfortable drive for Irene and Edmund from their home, and was also convenient for Angela, who was staying at her mother’s.

Arriving at his grandparents’ home was momentous for Neal. He’d snuck in with Henry over Christmas while the rest of the family was attending a memorial for fallen soldiers, including his uncle David. This was the first time he’d been there since then, and Irene led him on a tour filled with memories of decades of family life.

He stowed his luggage in the room that used to belong to his mom and Noelle. It had two beds, and Henry’s duffle bag and guitar were on one side of the room. Noelle was staying in what had been her brother’s old room. Irene mentioned that Graham and Julia Winslow had also arrived in their sailboat that afternoon.

Everyone else was at the park, and Irene and Edmund drove Neal there soon after he arrived. The party was officially on Saturday, but there was already a festive feel. The caravans had set up their wares, including demonstrations of their crafts. Tantalizing scents led Neal to a set of booths where some caravan members prepared food he associated with carnivals and fairs. Neal grabbed a roasted turkey leg from a stall with a medieval theme, and he noticed many people in medieval or renaissance costumes. Angela wore an emerald green gown and a circlet of flowers on her head. Green and yellow ribbons descending from the circlet fluttered in the air and tangled in her hair. She was engaged in an animated conversation with a group of people who were inspecting instruments Neal wasn’t familiar with.

“A dulcimer,” Edmund said when he noticed Neal staring. “My father used to build them, and some of my nieces and nephews have carried on the tradition.”

Some of those dulcimers looked like works of art, and Neal decided he’d return to study them later. First, however, he had to gawk at Henry. His cousin wore a light chainmail shirt and red tunic over his jeans, and was fending off at least a dozen elementary-school aged children wielding rubber swords. He had a shield he used to rebuff them, but would sometimes take them off guard by picking up one of the smaller opponents and swinging him or her in the air until the child was overcome with giggles. Neal smiled as he pondered what his fencing masters would say about Henry’s technique. He was certain that tickling was not considered an allowable form of defense, but it did seem to be effective.

What had happened to the brooding, morose Henry of last weekend? As glad as Neal was to see Henry having fun, he didn’t trust this drastic change in such a short time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, both Silbrith and I want to extend our sympathies to everyone affected by the violence in Paris and around the world recently. We hope our stories provide a distraction when you need it, and I wish I could send Noelle to give you a hug.
> 
> When Neal says Peter is a friend now, don’t worry about the father-son relationship. It’s still there, but it’s more like the kind of relationship an adult son has with his father.
> 
> My thanks to Silbrith for her advice and inspiration. Henry’s bout with tiny swordsmen and swordswomen is inspired by Chapter 8 of Silbrith’s Queen’s Jewels, where Neal fences with Jones’ nephew Ethan. Silbrith also suggested Cherry Hill Park for the birthday party, and I’ve posted some images to the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board.
> 
> The renaissance festival feel of the party is inspired by visits I’ve made to Scarborough Faire in North Texas. Their costumes, food and entertainment were all in my mind for this birthday party.
> 
> Silbrith also helped me see that this chapter was much too long. Therefore I’ve split it into two parts. Part two will be posted next weekend. In it we’ll see how Neal gets Henry to admit he needs help. Also, the surprise visitor I promised last week will finally arrive. I plan to post the ending of the story over Thanksgiving weekend.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading! And yes, I will post another story in this AU. My goal is to start posting “Caffrey Aloha” by the end of the year. It’s a story set over Christmas of 2004 in Hawaii, where the Burke and Caffrey families will gather for the wedding of Noelle Winslow and Joe Burke. There might also be a crime to solve…


	43. Jiminy Cricket - Part 2

**Cherry Hill Park. Washington, D.C. Friday evening. August 6, 2004.**

After an hour of wandering, Neal thought he’d seen most of the stalls and displays of the Caffrey caravans that had gathered for Henry’s birthday tomorrow. The party was going to be more of a festival, from what Neal could tell. He’d donned a blue tunic now, similar to the red one Henry wore. The immediate family had gathered on a picnic blanket to consume a selection of foods from the caravans. Henry was pilfering pieces of the funnel cake Neal had procured. He professed innocence when Neal complained, but the powdered sugar on his red tunic was a dead giveaway. Noelle was sharing popcorn with her parents. Angela had a snow cone that was melting on her hand because she was too excited to eat.

“It’s not just the instruments that are amazing,” she was saying. “What blew my mind was the fusion, the merging of styles as cultures meet. The result is something totally new, unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It’s music not just as entertainment, but also as storytelling. It’s making me think of music in ways I hadn’t even imagined. When I get back to Seattle I’m going to see if I can swap one of my electives for an ethnomusicology class.”

“She’s found her direction,” Henry said in a low voice to Neal. “I don’t have to worry about her now. If Columbia has a master’s in this ethnomusicology field, then you can keep an eye on her next year.”

“What about Dor?” Neal asked, thinking of their grandfather’s objections to Angela studying music.

“He won’t have the heart to stand in her way when she’s this happy. Anyway, this sounds more like theory than performance. That should assuage his fears that she’ll be on the road all the time, living hand-to-mouth.”

“Henry?”

Henry and Neal looked up. They’d lost track of the conversation. Apparently Angela had taken a break in enthusing about the folk instruments and had a question for them. There was a particularly mischievous look in her eyes. Neal didn’t know why, but Henry was turning slightly red.

“Time to head back?” Henry parried. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

“You haven’t told Neal yet, have you?” Angela asked.

“Told me what?”

“It’s stupid,” said Henry. Definitely turning red.

“Our illustrious cousin – rock musician, investigator at Win-Win, sailor extraordinaire, and with a master’s degree to prove he’s not just a pretty face – he…” Angela trailed off, laughing.

“What?” Neal asked, looking at Henry.

He muttered something that included “Top Ten.”

“Top Ten what?” Neal asked.

Angela cleared her throat. “He was named one of the Top Ten Most Eligible Bachelors of Baltimore last week.”

“Surely that’s not a surprise,” Edmund interjected. “The boy takes after me.”

“Way to go, Tiger,” Neal said.

Henry moaned and complained at the teasing, but he took it with good humor. In fact all day, Henry was determinedly cheerful. It was as if he was making a point that he was fine and ready to party. Neal thought it was an act rather than actual happiness, but couldn’t get through that mask long enough to find the truth.

There were moments when Henry seemed unmasked. In the evening back in the room they were sharing, Henry showed off his new guitar. He’d finally bought the one Randy Weston had been holding for him. It was a beautiful instrument with a great sound, and he seemed genuinely excited to have it. He played part of a song that sounded familiar, but didn’t sing the words and Neal didn’t recognize it at first. The tune continued to run through his mind as he drifted to sleep and he finally realized it was “Save Yourself” by Jonny Lang – a song about secrets and being haunted by the past.

That was the way behind the mask. As Angela had made clear this evening, the Caffrey Caravan was filled with music lovers. Neal was going to organize an impromptu concert for Henry’s birthday when they returned to Cherry Hill Park Saturday morning. It would be one last mission for Urban Legend before they faded back to obscurity. He didn’t have all of his crew here in D.C., but Angela, Noelle and Irene could be trusted to help him assemble a new crew. After all, they were equally worried about Henry.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The family embraced Neal’s idea of a concert wholeheartedly. They took turns keeping Henry occupied throughout the day to make it a surprise. The most complex part was getting their guitars to the park without Henry noticing.

Members of the Caravan joined in, too. Those without musical skills set about constructing a makeshift stage for singers.

At 4pm, people started gathering near the stage, drawn by the sight and scent of birthday cakes and cupcakes which were being unloaded from the delivery truck of a local bakery.

Edmund stepped onto the stage and someone handed him a microphone. “It isn’t a birthday without cake now, is it?” he asked, and there was a resounding agreement from the crowd. Neal noticed that Edmund picked up more of an Irish accent the longer he spent with his extended family. “Our Henry has a bit of a sweet tooth, as we learned on a long ago birthday when he climbed up on the dining table and we found him digging into the cake with his bare hands.” People chuckled. “Don’t stand on ceremony, then. Get that cake while you can, before Henry beats you to it.” A line formed leading to the cakes as Edmund looked on approvingly. “You may have noticed there isn’t a pile of gifts in pretty wrapping paper here. That’s because you’re Henry’s gift. He told us years ago he preferred experiences rather than things for his presents. Well, my wife took that to heart, and this year she organized an event the likes of which I could barely fathom when she first mentioned it.” He beckoned Irene up, and she joined him on stage to the applause of the attendees. She wore a costume that she’d told Neal was inspired by the ones in the movie _Kiss Me Kate_.

It had been an overcast day and cooler than usual, which had been conducive to people going about in renaissance and medieval costumes on an August day. Now the clouds parted a bit, and a ray of sun shone down on the stage. “Am I imagining this?” Neal asked Noelle, who was in costume as a tavern wench.

“No. Things like this always happen around Mom. It’s as if the universe knows she was meant to be a star.”

Irene was thanking everyone for attending and then asked all the children in the camp to join her in singing Happy Birthday to Henry.

“She’s a Pied Piper,” Neal said to Noelle when the song ended. “That’s where Henry gets it. At the park before the funeral and yesterday afternoon here, the kids couldn’t stay away from him.”

“And you followed him when he found you in Chicago.”

Neal wanted to argue that he hadn’t been a kid, but decided she might have a point. Henry had appealed to the Peter Pan in Neal, who might have been afraid to grow up when he was barely 18. The lure of adventure with Henry had been a temptation he couldn’t resist, a chance to replace dreary childhood memories with something magical.

“Now some of you may have heard of a singing group called Urban Legend,” Edmund said. “The members were Henry and two other Caffreys. This summer they clawed their way to fame – if sadly not fortune – on an undercover mission with the FBI to stop an underhanded businessman who was cheating those who want to make their living with music.”

“He’s making it sound like we’re all FBI agents,” Neal commented to Henry, who had walked over.

“He’s reaching back to his Irish roots and spinning a yarn,” Henry said.

“Now in addition to Henry we have the other members of the group here with a surprise of their own. Come up here, Lass, Boyo. Tell everyone what you have planned for us.” Edmund handed the microphone to Neal.

“Henry’s been my best friend since I turned 18,” Neal said. “Every year he plans an amazing surprise for my birthday. I do my best to return the favor, but I think for once I’m finally going to outdo him. We’ve got an incredible array of musical talent here, and in the spirit of the movies our gracious hostess once starred in, we’re going to put on a show!”

As the cheers died down, Angela took the microphone. “I already have a list of people who want to perform. I’ve matched up singers who need accompaniment with musicians. We’ll give you an hour to scatter and practice. Then, as a series of food trucks arrive to serve us dinner, the entertainment will begin. And in case you were wondering… Aunt Noelle, if you would, please.” She paused as Noelle took a guitar case from its hiding place and gave it to Henry. “Yes, we couldn’t do something like this without letting our guest of honor show off with his new guitar.”

Neal jumped down from the stage and offered his hand to Angela, who again wore the green renaissance-inspired gown. She picked up a clipboard with a long list on it and told people the order in which they’d perform.

Paige had accompanied her daughter to the event and stood beside Neal. “She’s kind of bossy,” Neal said in surprise.

“She gets it from her father,” said Paige. “He was always bossing his sisters around. As a child she liked to organize things, and as I was often distracted with aircraft designs, I was happy to let her plan our menus and make out the grocery lists. When she showed an aptitude in math, David showed her the household accounts and how he balanced our budget. Next thing we knew she was pushing him away and took over that, too.”

Since the concert had been Neal’s idea, he kicked off the performances when people returned to the stage area. “Recently I learned that his Winslow grandparents had a nickname for Henry. They called him Tiger. So this is in honor of them.” He started singing “Eye of the Tiger” and watched as Henry laughed. Perfect. He wanted Henry to be lulled into the belief that this was purely entertainment. That would leave him open to showing his true reactions to the songs. He wouldn’t realize that Neal was playing Jiminy Cricket this time.

Next up were Graham and Julia Winslow. They explained how much Henry had loved being on the water with them. Even as an infant, he’d seemed calmer on a boat. As a result, decades ago Julia had chosen a song she’d thought was an appropriate lullaby for their Tiger, and she sang it with her husband now. Christopher Cross’ “Sailing” brought happy memories, judging by the smile on Henry’s face.

A group of Irish Caffreys went next. They talked about meeting Henry on his vacation earlier this year, and they spun a tale claiming that Bono was almost certainly a Caffrey. Then they sang U2’s “Beautiful Day.”

Neal lounged on a picnic blanket next to Henry. “Did you meet Bono?” he asked his cousin.

“Oh, more than that,” Henry said, matching their distant cousins’ Irish accent. “I think I saw him in the line for cake this afternoon.”

Neal’s godfather Trent Lombard was next onstage. He wasn’t going to sing, but had requested a song that members of the caravan had agreed to perform. “Some of you may know I’m in the Air Force, as was Henry’s Uncle David. And I know what song David would sing for you if he were here.” The caravan played Steve Miller’s “Fly Like an Eagle.” And there was the tiniest crack in Henry’s façade as he listened to the song about being free to fly away. Neal had been afraid of this. Henry was tempted to run off alone someplace to regroup and lick his wounds, but Neal didn’t think Henry would find peace alone. He needed help.

Angela was on stage next, with a rousing rendition of “Steve McQueen,” in which she sounded a lot like Sheryl Crow. Edmund followed with Paul Simon’s “I Am a Rock,” and of course Irene went with a song from the movies, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Again Henry had a longing look at the idea of escaping to a magical world.

What if his escape wasn’t physical? He wouldn’t do something stupid like escape in drugs to find his own Oz, would he? Neal told himself his cousin was smarter than that, but what would his form of escape be?

Members of the caravan were up next with “Hanging by a Moment” by Lifehouse and “I’ll Be” by Edwin McCain. Then all three cousins took the stage as Urban Legend. They hadn’t practiced this afternoon, since they’d had plenty of practice leading up to their sting. They’d told Henry they’d perform whatever he felt like in the moment. He selected Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again,” which seemed to confirm Henry planned to hit the road.

As they settled back on the picnic blanket Neal asked, “Where do you want to go?”

Henry leaned back and closed his eyes. “Pops and I are taking the _Executive Decision_ for a run down the coast starting on Labor Day weekend. We’ll go down to the Carolinas, maybe further, and then head back home.”

That wasn’t too bad, Neal supposed. Graham certainly needed time to deal with his own grief. Henry could feel like he was helping Graham, while Graham would make sure Henry didn’t do anything too crazy. But Labor Day was nearly a month away. Neal wasn’t sure Henry could hold on that long. What was he planning to do for the next few weeks?

Angela had wisely planned an upbeat song next. A teenager from the caravan belted out “Tomorrow” from _Annie_ , and Neal saw Irene approach the girl once she left the stage. Probably to offer advice for going into show business, Neal guessed. The singer had an excellent voice and stage presence.

The next group took a few minutes to set up and Neal asked, “Are you going back to your job before your sailing trip?” Julia and Graham Winslow sat on lawn chairs nearby, and Neal saw Graham’s head turn in their direction as he overheard the question.

Henry still lay on his back with his eyes closed and hands clasped behind his head. “I don’t know. I want to go back, eventually. But I wonder if some of them blame me for what happened to Robert.”

“You didn’t shoot him,” Neal protested.

“No, but maybe my coming to Win-Win and being competitive… Maybe by besting him in the company, I drove him to more extreme measures.”

“He practically had to drag you into the company. He pounded in your head all your life that he expected you to try harder and do better at the job. How could anyone blame you for that?”

“I don’t know, man. It just doesn’t feel like there’s a good answer. If I don’t go back, I lose something I want. If I do go back, it feels… Awkward? It feels like I need to do something first, to make things right. Atone, maybe.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not atone, exactly. Make peace with… I don’t know. I just haven’t felt peaceful in a long time. I almost don’t remember what it feels like, but I’ve got to do something to calm all the thoughts and emotions spinning through my head.”

Neal thought back to Henry saying he might try a form of therapy popular in India. “Your Beatles’ moment. Are you gonna give that a try?”

Henry sighed. “I dunno. I’ve got a lot to figure out.”

The group that sang next had chosen a folk song Neal didn’t recognize. They used the dulcimer and other instruments that were new to him. As they prepared to leave the stage, Noelle walked by. “I’m up next. I was going to sing acapella, but I’m having second thoughts. Neal, could you play for me? Nothing fancy, just a few chords to keep me in tune.”

He grabbed his guitar and scrambled up. “Sure, what song did you choose?”

She led the way toward the stage area. “I had a few options in mind, depending on how things went. I’ve decided on ‘Someone Waits for You’ by Carly Simon.”

“Doesn’t that sound like you approve of Henry running away instead of staying here to face his issues?” Neal objected when they were far enough away that his cousin wouldn’t hear them.

“I don’t agree those options are mutually exclusive. I’m starting to think he needs to get away to gain perspective. Don’t think of it as Henry trying to escape from his problems, but rather that he’s looking for the space and objectivity for healing. The best thing we can do is support him and let him know we’ll be here for him when he’s ready to come home.”

Neal followed her wishes, and provided accompaniment for a wistful, poignant rendition of the song. Hers was the last performance on the stage, but throughout the evening entertainment could be found around every corner. There were jugglers, strolling musicians and folk dancers. There was a living chess game where the pieces were people who fought staged battles when moved to the same position on the massive board.

For a time Neal tagged along as Henry strolled down the aisles. They spotted Angela at the stall for a maker of dulcimers and she waved them over. “I wouldn’t have imagined it, but you can actually play pop songs on these. It really transforms the music. Can you play that R.E.M. song again?” she asked someone who was probably a distant cousin.

Angela sang a haunting version of “Everybody Hurts,” and halfway through Neal turned to Henry to comment on how good she was. He saw Henry’s eyes brimming with tears. Henry reached up to wipe them away, and couldn’t hold back a sob.

Neal froze, unsure what to do. Then he heard Graham’s voice, which cracked a little as he said, “That’s right, Tiger. Let the pain out.” Graham hugged Henry a minute and said, “I’ve been thinking maybe we should start that trip earlier, and extend it a bit. I don’t have any commitments for a while. What do you say we head to the _Executive Decision_ tonight, sail back to Baltimore in the morning to drop off Julia and load up on provisions?”

Graham let go of Henry, who sniffed and then stepped back. He was blinking back tears as he nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said hoarsely.

Looking at Neal and Angela, Graham said, “You’ll tell Noelle where we’ve gone? Let her know I’ll watch out for him.”

Angela nodded and Neal said, “Sure, Pops.”

Graham patted Neal on the back. “You’re good kids.” Then he put an arm around Henry’s shoulders and started leading him toward the parking lot.

“His guitar!” said Angela. “I think he should take it.”

Neal agreed. Henry needed music. He ran toward the stage, picked up Henry’s guitar case and then sprinted toward Henry and Graham. “Here,” he said as he caught up with them. “Angela thought you’d need it.” Not sure when he’d see Henry again, he stepped forward and hugged him. “Take care of yourself,” he said.

“You, too, kiddo.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Noelle took the news in silence.

“This will be good, don’t you think?” Neal asked. “Being on the boat, it seems to be good for him. And you said he needed to get away.”

She nodded.

“And Graham… I mean, you couldn’t pick a better person to keep an eye on him. Other than me, of course.”

She patted his hand.

“So, umm.” Neal seemed at a loss for words.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. “You’re right. He needs this. I’m going to miss him terribly, and I thought I’d have a little more time to prepare, but… You’re right,” she repeated.

“And they’re not leaving till morning. You could drop by the dock to say bon voyage,” Neal said.

She smiled through the tears gathering in her eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Neal. That’s a wonderful idea.” She reached up to kiss his cheek. “Have you told my parents yet?”

“Angela volunteered for that job.” He paused. “Can I get you anything? There’s a lemonade stand around the corner. They have bottled water, too. And I’m sure I saw someone selling mead.”

She could tell he’d feel better if he could do something for her, so she requested the bottled water. Once she had it, she thanked him and said she should check on her parents. Neal pointed her in the direction he’d last seen them, and she meandered that way. She would check on her parents, but wanted a few moments to herself, first. She turned down aisles, absently admiring wares in a stall and forgetting what she’d seen as soon as she stepped away. It was getting dark, she realized. Most stalls had lanterns glowing over their wares, and there were campfires going up near some of the tents.

“Excuse me. Are you Noelle Caffrey?” The woman who asked looked vaguely familiar. Of course, most of the people here looked vaguely familiar. Those Caffrey genes had endowed most of the family with Irish features.

“I was. It’s Winslow now.”

“Of course. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Siobhan Caffrey.”

Noelle blinked as the memory came back to her. Siobhan was a cousin who’d befriended her the summer their Caffrey grandmother took her along with one of the caravans. She smiled in pleasure at the memories, and started chatting with Siobhan, catching up on each other’s lives. They’d corresponded for a few years but then had fallen out of touch.

“As much as I’d like to keep talking,” Siobhan said after a few minutes, “there’s someone looking for you.” She pointed toward a group of RVs. “Over there, in the dark blue rig. You can barely see it in the dark.”

“Who is it?”

“I didn’t recognize her. She told me her name is Annina.”

Annina. That sounded familiar, although Noelle couldn’t quite place it. She gave Siobhan her business card with her personal email address scrawled on the back and they promised to get in touch soon. Noelle strolled toward the RV, and saw a woman in jeans as she got closer. “Annina?” she asked.

“Annina Brandel.” The woman flashed a badge. U.S. Marshal. Oh. This was the woman who’d shot Robert. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Winslow.”

“I’m grateful you saved my son. But what are you doing here? Aren’t you based in New York?”

“Yes, normally, but there’s not much that’s normal about this case. You’re aware that your ex-husband threatened to expose the location of two protected witnesses?”

Noelle nodded. “I’d heard that.”

“We moved them to temporary safe houses while we searched for him. Now that he’s no longer a threat, we’re relocating them. Neal had mentioned this event, and it seemed like the best opportunity to slip in unnoticed by James Bennett’s enemies.” She nodded toward the door of the RV. “Go on up. We can’t stay long, but when the request was made…” She shrugged. “I thought I owed it to you to pull this off.”

Noelle opened the door and stepped inside. It was dark.

“Close the door,” she heard a woman say.

When the door was closed, a light came on. She stared at a version of herself that had stayed brunette instead of dying her hair blond. “Hey, sis,” said Meredith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with references to my short story Caffrey Envoy in this AU. As in that story, Henry’s in red, Neal in blue, and Angela wears green; they’re making a mess with food, and Trent Lombard is present. There’s also a forward-looking reference to Silbrith’s The Queen’s Jewels; in chapters 14 and 15 of that story Henry returns and catches Neal up on his travels with Graham, including a sojourn in India to study a technique called mindfulness.
> 
> The story Paige tells about Angela taking over the household accounts is setting up Angela’s part-time job as a bookkeeper in Silbrith’s Dreamer.
> 
> If you noticed that Edmund calls Henry his grandson but doesn’t introduce Neal as such, that’s for Neal’s safety. His father’s enemies are still out there, so he shouldn’t be publicly identified as the missing grandchild.
> 
> Thanks as always to Silbrith for acting as beta and to all of you for reading. The final chapter of this story will be posted next weekend. I’ll try to post it midday Saturday rather than at night to give you more time to read it, because it’s loooong.


	44. Disclosure

**Cherry Hill Park. Washington, D.C.  Saturday evening.  August 7, 2004.**

Even though Henry had left after giving in to the pain of losing his father and everything Robert had done, the festival continued.  Most people didn’t know the guest of honor had departed to spend the rest of the night on his grandfather’s sailboat. 

Neal was talking to one of his Caffrey Caravan cousins about the watercolors featured on a set of postcards in her stall when Angela rushed up to say, “Neal, there’s someone looking for you.  This way.”  She grabbed his hand and led him toward the campsite. 

As they neared a set of recreational vehicles, Mike Chan stepped forward.  “Thanks, Angela.  I’ll take it from here.” 

Angela looked to Neal for confirmation, and he said, “It’s OK.  I know Mike.  He’s a good guy.”  With that Angela returned to the festivities.

“What’s going on?” Neal asked.

“We’re relocating Ellen now that your uncle Robert is no longer a threat.  She wanted a chance to see you, and we arranged to swing by here.  We can’t stay long, but it’s better than nothing.”  As they approached, Mike gave a thumbs up to a Marshal standing guard in front of a beige RV.

“If you aren’t guarding Ellen, why didn’t you go with Angela to find me?” Neal wondered.

“We aren’t supposed to attract attention.”

“So?”

“Kid, you’ve got the whitest family I’ve ever seen.  I’d stand out like a sore thumb.”

Neal chuckled.  “It’s that Irish complexion.  You either get ghost white or freckles.  I lucked out.  Maybe it’s my dad’s genes added to the mix, but at least I can tan.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry’s birthday had been a rollercoaster for Noelle Winslow.  It had started out fun combined with a layer of worry that he was repressing his grief.  Next thing she knew, she was assisting Neal with a plan to bring Henry’s emotions to the surface.  That had been followed with concern it hadn’t worked, then relief to hear it had been successful, mixed with regret that she hadn’t been there to offer comfort.  She was sad that Henry would be going away sooner than expected, and then happy to run into an old friend. 

But for sheer shock value, nothing beat facing the twin sister who’d been in WITSEC the last 22 years.

Meredith stood in an RV that was parked on the outskirts of the Caffrey caravans.  She looked at her sister with trepidation, as if unsure of her welcome.

Tongue-tied, Noelle simply stepped forward and hugged her sister.  She noticed that Meredith was stiff at first, as if she hadn’t been hugged in a long time.  “Meredith, it’s so good to see you!”

“It’s been so long, I hardly even recognize _Meredith_ as my name anymore.”  She gestured for Noelle to sit down on the small sofa. 

“I used to fantasize about what I’d say if I saw you again, and now it’s all flown out of my head,” Noelle admitted.  “I’m still having a hard time believing you’re here.”

“I heard about Robert,” Meredith said, and Noelle nodded. 

“The funeral was last weekend.  Today’s Henry’s birthday.  He’s 28 now.”

“I saw him – and Mom and Dad – in the interview with Tom Brokaw.  When I heard about the appearance in the Local Devastation concert I recorded it.  It was good to watch all three kids…  Henry and Angela – hard to believe she’s the baby I remember – and…”  She trailed off, as if afraid to say his name.

“And Neal.  I first spoke with him in January, and we met him in February.  Well, it turns out he’d been friends with Henry for years.  He’s working for the FBI now, and he’s turned out to be an amazing young man.  So smart, and kind, and… and fun.  He’s going to Columbia in the fall to get a dual masters in art.”

Meredith almost smiled.  “Dad must be pleased.”

“He couldn’t be prouder.”  Noelle reached for the small bag she carried to find her cell phone.  “They’re going to be so excited to see you.  I have to call them.”

“No.”  Meredith briefly put a hand on Noelle’s arm.  “I’m only allowed to talk to one family member while I’m here.”

“But…”  Noelle nearly stuttered in dismay.  “Neal is here.  You have to see him.”

“He’s talking to Ellen – you knew her as Kathryn Hill.”

“But couldn’t you both see him?” Noelle protested.

“I needed to talk to you.”  Meredith handed her an envelope.  It was slightly yellowed with age, and was sealed.  It had been pre-printed with the name and return address of a medical clinic. 

“You never opened it?” Noelle asked in surprise.

“No.  When we went into WITSEC I gave it to the Marshals.  At the time I thought I’d let Neal open it when he turned 18, but in the end I chickened out.  Hearing we were protected witnesses was such a shock to him, I couldn’t add on more.  Instead I got drunk.”  She shrugged.  “I did that a lot those days, more and more as his birthday approached.  I had a feeling he wouldn’t react well to the news, that I should have explained things earlier or found a way to ease him into it more gradually, but it was too late.  One of my many failures as a mother.”

Noelle’s heart ached, and she wished she could have been there as a sounding board for her sister all those years.  “Neal still loves you, you know.”

“I wish I could believe you.”  She glanced at the envelope.  “I was going to have you open it here, but I’ve changed my mind.  I don’t want to know what it says.”  She looked back up at Noelle.  “Open it with Mom.  She’ll know what to do.”

“She’s going to be upset she didn’t get to see you.”

“Not as upset as she’d be if she did see me.  I’m not the same person anymore.”

Noelle had to agree.  Usually after being reunited, within minutes the twins were on the same wavelength, almost reading each other’s minds, but that wasn’t happening now.  Her hand shook slightly as she put the envelope in her bag.

“Have you told him?” Meredith asked.

She shook her head.  “No.  I promised I wouldn’t.  It was always your call what to tell him and when.”  It had been tempting, recently.  Her mother had been encouraging her, saying that old promise was meaningless now.

“We were different people when we made that promise.  Back then, who would have imagined where we’d be now?”

“Do you want me to tell Neal?” Noelle asked, needing to be certain what Meredith intended. 

“Yeah, if… No.  No ifs.  Do it.”  She reached down and pulled a brown paper sack out from under the sofa.  “And give him this.  When he ran away and the Marshals told me he wasn’t coming back, they had me get rid of most of his stuff before they moved me.  This is one of the few things I kept.”  She clutched the bag a moment before thrusting it at Noelle.  “Tell him… Tell him I know it was bad for him, having me as a mom, but that he was the source of the greatest joy in my life.  Even if I didn’t show it all the time.  After the drinking and everything Vance did when he abducted Neal, I didn’t think I deserved happiness.  I rejected it, and to a kid like Neal it probably felt like I rejected him.”

Noelle looked in the bag.  It held a battered – no, make that well-loved – stuffed animal.  Not just any stuffed animal, but the brown dog Henry had given Neal a few weeks before the Marshals took them away.  She looked back up at her sister.  There was so much she wanted to ask, so many memories to share.  It might take all night –

“You have to go,” Meredith said.

“What?”

“We need to leave soon.  And… And I can’t contact you anymore.  The Marshals made that clear.  No more calling each other at Christmas.”

“But Robert’s gone.  Now that he’s no longer a threat, why –”

“The Marshals say they’ll be watching, to make sure we don’t try to break the rules again.”  She shook her head as Noelle tried to protest.  “I know we could find a way around it, but I don’t think we should.  I need to move on.  Trying to hold on to the remnants of my old life is too painful.  I can’t pretend to be Meredith anymore.  I’ve been Deirdre too long.  That’s who I am now.”  She stood and ushered Noelle out.  “Goodbye.”  Then Deirdre looked at Annina.  “I’m ready.”

Marshal Annina Brandel nodded.  “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

The door to the RV closed, and Noelle stared at it in shock, still clutching the brown paper bag. 

“You’re lucky,” said Annina.  “Most people never see their family members who’ve gone into WITSEC.  You’ve got Neal back, plus a visit from your sister.”

“Will she be all right?” Noelle asked, still trying to fathom the person with her sister’s face who had felt like a stranger.

“As good as she can be,” Annina said.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

“Roosevelt Island?” Neal repeated.  “That’s a lot closer than I’d expected.”

“Don’t come looking for us,” Mike warned.  “In a few years, if there are no incidents, the Marshals will let me reach out to you, since I’m not in WITSEC.  I can pass some messages back and forth, maybe discreetly let you know where Ellen and I will be.”

It was more than Neal would have expected possible, so he didn’t complain about the long wait.  Ellen looked blissful.  Not only was she ecstatic to see Neal, but she and Mike were also wearing shiny new wedding rings.  All too soon the Marshal knocked on the door and said it was time they were on their way.  Neal hugged the couple goodbye and then waved them off.

He noticed a blue RV followed behind them.  And then he saw Noelle, who had been standing on the opposite side of that vehicle.  She was staring after it and seemed lost.  He walked over and realized her cheeks were shining.  “Are you crying?” he asked.  At first he thought she was more upset than she’d let on about Henry leaving, and then the implication of the second RV hit him.  “Was that…?”

“Meredith,” she confirmed with a sniffle. 

It was a shock to realize she’d been right here.  So close, and yet no contact.  Not even an attempt.  She could have at least looked out and waved goodbye when they pulled away.  Presumably she knew Ellen was in the next RV and that Neal had been talking to her.  It took a moment before he gathered his thoughts enough to ask, “How is she?”  _Why didn’t she want to talk to me?_

“She looks the same.  Well, she looks like a brunette me, that is.  But she’s a stranger now.”  That didn’t really answer Neal’s question, but Noelle started to cry and when he reached out to her, she latched onto him and shook as a storm of tears soaked his shoulder.  “I’m sorry,” she said a few minutes later.  “I’m sorry about the tears.  I should be sorry you couldn’t talk to her, but I’m not.  It hurt too much.”  She wiped her eyes.  “How was Ellen?”

“She’s great,” Neal said, feeling somewhat guilty that his visit had been so much more positive.  What had Meredith said that had her so upset?  He led Noelle toward the festival and picked up a bottle of water.  “Here.”

“Do you think I shed so many tears I’m dehydrated?” she asked, managing a small smile as she opened the bottle.  She took a sip.  “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Do you wanna find Dor and Dressa and head back to their house?”

“Yes, please.” 

She said little when they found his grandparents and walked toward the car.  Irene made a comment about how Henry was in excellent hands, and Noelle let them think that her silence was a reaction to her son leaving.  Noelle and Neal shared the backseat of the car.  As Edmund drove, Noelle clutched a brown paper bag as if her life depended on it.  Minutes away from the house she seemed to notice Neal’s questioning gaze.  “Oh.  This is for you.”  She handed it to him.  “Your… she kept it, and wanted you to have it.”

He looked inside the bag, but under the street lights couldn’t make out what it held.  It wasn’t until they were in the garage that he saw what it contained.  “Henry!” he said in surprise.

“Where?” asked Irene, looking around for her other grandson.  “Isn’t he on Graham’s sailboat?”

Neal shook his head and held up the stuffed animal.  “I named it after Henry when I was a little kid.  I’d told Noelle about it a few weeks ago and we made a pact never to tell him.”

“Good idea,” said Irene.  But as they entered the house she glanced pointedly at Noelle.  She didn’t need to say anything; it was obvious she wanted to know how her daughter had gotten Neal’s childhood toy.  Neal wanted to know more about that, too.

“I’m going to call Graham to find out his schedule,” Noelle said.  “I’d like to stop by tonight or first thing in the morning to see Henry off.  Neal, would you mind packing Henry’s things?  Then I can drop off his suitcase when I go.”

“No problem,” said Neal.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Henry hadn’t brought a lot of stuff with him, since he’d only planned to stay a few days.  Packing took a matter of minutes.  Then worry set in. 

What had Meredith said?  Noelle had mentioned something about how she couldn’t talk to Neal.  Was that because they had limited time?  If so, why hadn’t she at least opened a damn window to say hello to her son before the RV pulled away?  Meredith wasn’t stupid.  She could have figured out a way to speak with Neal if she wanted to.

He considered any number of possibilities and then decided to take the suitcase downstairs and simply ask his questions.  To his surprise, the kitchen and living room were both dark.  He didn’t hear any voices at all, but a quick investigation showed a light spilling out from under the door of Edmund’s study.  The door was closed.

They had something to talk about and they wanted privacy. Given the events of this evening, the topic was almost certainly Henry or Meredith.  Whatever it was, Neal wanted to hear.  He’d had enough of secrets as a kid, and now he regretted that he hadn’t pushed for answers then when things didn’t add up.

Last night Henry mentioned that the twins had sometimes snuck out of their room, climbing up a gable to grab the branches of a nearby tree.  Neal had already viewed that route with a cat burglar’s eye, out of habit and competitiveness.  If they could do it, he was sure he could.  Edmund’s study was right beneath that tree, and on mild evenings like this one he usually opened the room’s window to let in a breeze. 

In no time Neal was in the tree and was sitting on the lower branches.  Shielded by the leaves he couldn’t see in the window, but he was at the perfect angle to eavesdrop.

Noelle’s voice was clearest.  Neal guessed she was sitting on the window seat.  “I hate to admit it, but she was right.  No matter how much she resembles my sister, she isn’t Meredith anymore.  Talking to her was spooky.  She seemed… I’d call it empty.  I don’t think she smiled once the whole time.  Although I suppose she doesn’t have much to smile about.  At first I was insisting that she should talk to Neal, but by the time she told me to leave I thought it might have been for the best that he was spared the experience.  It felt like she’d encased herself in ice, and that she’s decided not to let herself feel things anymore.  It gives me the chills just remembering.”

“What else did she say?” Irene’s voice was further away, but being an actress had taught her great projection.  Neal could hear every word.

“She gave me this.”

“Ah,” said Irene.  “This brings back memories.  She never opened it?”

“No, and she decided at the last minute she didn’t want to know what it says.”  Noelle paused.  “Will you open it, Mom?  I don’t think I have the nerve.”

“Of course, honeybunch.  Not that I need to.  I know what it says.”

“Did the doctors tell you?” Noelle asked.

_Doctors.  Was Meredith sick?_

“No, but it was obvious,” Irene said.

“Nonsense,” said Edmund.  “Just because you want something to be the answer, that doesn’t change the facts.  This is medical science.”

“This is family, and love.  I look with my heart and know the answer,” Irene argued.

Edmund made a huff of impatience.  “Regardless, we’ll tell the boy what it says.”

“On that we agree,” Irene said.  “He has a right to know.”

Noelle sighed.  “Meredith freed me from my old promise not to tell.  So, yes, before Neal goes back to New York I’ll…  Or rather, we’ll tell him.  I’d like you to be there.”

Now Neal felt a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping.  They weren’t planning to keep him in the dark. 

“Meredith should have been the one to tell him,” Edmund said.

_Yeah_ , Neal agreed.  _There’s a whole lot she should have told me_.

“Yes,” Noelle said, “she made some mistakes, even though I honestly think she meant well.  But that flight instinct of hers, it leads to avoidance.  And as she said this evening, when we started out we had no idea of the things that would happen.  We always assumed…  Mom?”

“I knew it!” said Irene.

“Let me see,” Noelle said.  There was a pause, followed by, “Oh.  Oh, Mom.”  It sounded like she was at a loss for words.

“For the love of God,” said Edmund.  “Whatever it says, there’s no need for all this fuss.  It doesn’t change anything.” 

“How can you say that?” asked Irene.

“No, Mom, he’s right.  We love Neal.  That’s the ultimate truth here.  No piece of paper can ever change those feelings.”

Neal slipped back up to his room.  He kicked off his shoes and sat on one of the beds, leaning against the pillows as he stared out the window.

A sheet of paper from a doctor.  A diagnosis?  But it was something they recognized, and was therefore from before Meredith had gone into WITSEC.  What kind of diagnosis would a person get and decide not to look at for 22 years?  In fact, it sounded like Meredith had decided to leave without ever knowing what it said.

It hit him for a moment that he was thinking of her as _Meredith_ now, instead of _Mom_.  He was distancing himself, much the same way Henry had when he started calling his father _Robert_. 

He picked up the stuffed animal he’d named for his cousin.  It was scruffy and one ear was loose, but it was clean.  What did she mean by leaving this for him?  It was nice that she’d kept it, right?  But to give it to him now…  Was this some kind of final goodbye?  Did it indicate she thought he’d need the comfort he used to get from the toy?

He heard a knock on his door, and had no idea how much time had gone by.  “Neal?”  It was Irene’s voice.

“Yeah.  Come in.”  He sat up straighter as his grandmother entered the room.

“That’s Henry?” she asked.  She sat beside Neal and he handed her the dog.  “I think I remember this fella,” she said as she looked it over.  Then she handed it back to Neal.  “How are you?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he shrugged and made a grumbling sound.

“Not a happy bear,” Irene declared.  “Well, we’re both justifiably grumpy.  I’m sure we could have gotten around that silly restraint of the Marshals that Meredith could only see one person.”

“Right!”  Neal hopped off the bed.  “What was she thinking?”

“She had an important message for Noelle, and I suspect that blinded her to everything else.  And I think she’s lost the adventurous spirit we still have.  In fact, Noelle says she’s so different in personality we would have found it painful to talk to her.  Noelle still seems shaken by it.”

“Is she OK?” Neal asked.

“Noelle will be her usual magnificent self soon enough.  I think seeing Henry in the morning and then spending the day with the two of us will do wonders for her.  Meredith, on the other hand…” she shrugged.  “If she’s really the stranger Noelle described, then I don’t know what to say.”

“What was the message you mentioned?” Neal asked.

“That’s for Noelle to share, since Meredith entrusted her with it.”

“More secrets?” Neal asked, not managing to keep all the bitterness out of his voice.

“There were too many secrets growing up, I suppose.  I’m sure Meredith thought she was protecting you.”

“And now Noelle is?”

Irene stood and put an arm around him.  “No, dear boy.  Give her a day or two to get used to what she learned and to decide how to tell you.  Meredith gave her a challenging script, and it will take a little time to set up the scene correctly.  You deserve the right setting for this.  You both do.  Can you trust me and be patient a little longer?”

How could he not trust her, when love for him shone in her eyes?  But to be clear how much this was asking of him, he said, “Make sure she tells me before I leave for New York, or I start calling you _Granny_ instead of _Dressa.”_

“Well, really.  There’s no need to be rude.”  She pulled him close and kissed his cheek.  “Behave.”

When she left, he closed the door and called Peter.

“Hey, how was the party?” Peter asked.  There was background noise, probably a baseball game on TV.

Neal described the festival atmosphere, and how they’d gotten Henry to show the pain he was feeling.  “He’s on the _Executive Decision_ now, and they plan to go sailing for a while.”

“Poor kid,” Peter said, “but it’s good that Graham’s there for him.  You’re going to miss him, though.”

“Yeah, especially…  Listen, the reason I called is about Monday.  We said we’d meet at the FBI headquarters, but can we go someplace a little more private?”

“My hotel would be best.  We can... Hold on.  El, can you…?  Sorry about that.  Satchmo was begging for his walk, and El’s taking him out.”  He told Neal the name of the hotel where he’d be staying.  “Wait for me in the lobby.  We can go to the bar, or up to my room if you want.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

“You know, we can talk now.  Whatever’s bothering you, it doesn’t need to wait till Monday.”

“That’s the problem.  I don’t know what it is yet.  The Marshals brought my mother to the party this evening, just long enough to tell Noelle something.  She seems pretty shaken up by it.  It must be a big deal, because apparently she needs a day or so to work up to telling me.  I’ve extracted a promise that I’ll get the truth before I leave.”

“And Noelle’s a strong woman.  She wouldn’t be shaken up by something minor.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, the offer stands.  You can call me before Monday if you want.  Either way, I’ll be at the hotel lobby at 4pm, ready to listen to whatever it is.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Sunday morning Irene and Noelle went to see Henry off, and Edmund took Neal back to Cherry Hill Park.  A few groups planned to stay another day, but most were packing up to head to their next venue.  Edmund was there as host to say farewell, and many people from the older generation wanted to chat and offer invitations for Edmund and his family to catch up with the caravans next summer.  Members of the younger generation wanted to talk to Neal about Urban Legend, and he received a few offers to join the caravan if he ever wanted to escape city life.  It was nearly 1pm when Edmund took Neal to a restaurant in downtown Washington, where they met Irene and Noelle.

“How’s Henry?” Neal asked. 

“He has a long way to go,” Irene said, “but it’s a journey he was meant to take.  He’ll be stronger when it’s over.”

“That’s kind of profound,” Neal said.

“It’s also a line from one of her movies,” Noelle added.

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Irene countered.  They paused to tell the waiter their orders, and then she said, “We thought after lunch we’d go to the National Gallery of Art.  We’d like to see the art through your eyes, Neal.  And for the evening Noelle made reservations at the Carlyle Club.  They have dinner and dancing.”

Neal nodded.  It sounded like an enjoyable day, but it differed from what Noelle had originally told him.  The museum visit had been planned for the next day.  “What’s on the agenda for Monday?”

Irene slid a glance toward Noelle.  “We’re working on that.”

He guessed that meant the big revelation – whatever it was – would happen tomorrow.  As the day went on, he was torn between being glad he was braced for something shocking, and regretting that he had the distraction of that worry.  At the National Gallery, for instance, he didn’t get as much pleasure as he usually did from the paintings. 

As he described what he knew of the painters and their techniques, he stopped the longest at Raphael’s _St. George and the Dragon_.  There was another painting by Raphael featuring St. George at the Louvre in Paris, but this version had been Kate Moreau’s favorite.  When Neal hadn’t been able to find her, he’d seriously considered stealing this painting and replacing it with a forgery, just to get her attention.  He’d even gone so far as to ask Mozzie to procure the museum schematics and security information. 

His life had certainly taken a sharp turn from those days.  Now Neal described the painting with all the admiration it deserved, but he was grateful a chance encounter with Peter had sent him down a different path.

Later at the Carlyle Club he again reflected on how his life had changed.  This time last year he never would have imagined having a relationship with his grandparents, much less celebrating their wedding anniversary with them.  He admired Dor and Dressa as they danced to “The Embassy Waltz” from _My Fair Lady_ – an appropriate choice for an ambassador, he supposed.  He took a spin around the floor with his grandmother to “Let’s Face the Music and Dance,” while Noelle danced with her father.  Neal couldn’t help wondering if the song selection had another meaning.  Was he supposed to face the music on Monday?

During the meal Noelle became more talkative than she’d been all day, until her mother put a hand over hers and said, “It’s all right, dear.  Don’t be afraid.”  It reminded Neal of something Noelle had said when he’d asked about his mother in the spring.  She had described Meredith as being silent and hiding when she was afraid, whereas Noelle became more talkative in the face of fear. 

What was she afraid of?

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter had to give Annina Brandel kudos for making things as painless as possible for him at the U.S. Marshals’ D.C. office.  She’d clearly filled out the right forms, because when he arrived for his appointment he was immediately ushered inside to see Neal’s file.  He found the birth certificate and was allowed to make a copy.  It wasn’t until he was putting the original back in the file that he took the time to read through it.

Sure enough, Neal George Bennett had been born in Baltimore.  Everything looked as expected.  Then Peter did a double take.  Had he read that correctly?  He reviewed a portion more carefully.  Yes, that’s what it said.  Did Neal know?

For a moment he stared at the document, wondering if he should still give the copy to Neal.  Then he checked his watch.  Not even 8am yet.  Most people would object to being called this early.  He decided he’d contact Noelle over his lunch break.  She could tell him what this meant.

Then he went to the Bureau for a morning of management training.  His plans to call Noelle were derailed when he was invited into Philip Kramer’s office to discuss a case.

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Monday after a late breakfast, Edmund, Irene, and Noelle took Neal to an orchard outside of town.  They told him it had been a favorite destination of Meredith’s.  She had loved making dishes featuring fruits from this orchard.

There were baskets at the entrance.  Visitors could pick fruit that was in season, and pay for it on their way out.  There was also a coffee shop that served cider and pies and other fruit-based items. 

For a while they wandered the orchard, finally ending up at a gazebo in the center of the property.  Noelle sat down on a bench, as did her mother.  Neal and Edmund leaned against the gazebo railing.  Certain that the long-awaited revelation was coming, Neal forced himself to remain still rather than pacing.

Noelle started out by sharing a message from Meredith, saying that Neal had been the greatest source of her happiness.  She added a comment about Meredith’s awareness that her feeling of unworthiness had damaged her relationship with Neal, because she had found it difficult to accept the happiness he brought her.  Then she took a deep breath and said, “We’ve mentioned the difficulties Meredith had, the miscarriages, and how she went to a fertility clinic in England.”

Neal nodded.  At last they were getting to health-related issues and the mysterious doctor’s note.

When Noelle seemed tongue-tied, Edmund faced Neal and said, “As you can surmise from the miscarriages, Meredith didn’t have a problem getting pregnant.  The issue was carrying a baby to term.  The clinic in England had just announced their success with a test tube baby.  The U.S. wasn’t as far along in that technology yet.  That’s why we went out of the country.”

“I was a test tube baby?” Neal asked.

“Yes,” Noelle said.  “And the clinic wouldn’t implant you in Meredith, because they said it was too high-risk.  So I agreed to act as a surrogate.” 

“That’s why I was born in Baltimore.  And what was Julia’s part in this?  She said she was there when I was born.”

“She’d dropped by the house to keep me company while Mom and Meredith were doing some shopping.  I went into labor and Julia drove me to the hospital.”

“Not Robert?” Neal asked.

Noelle shook her head.  “You weren’t his child.  He wasn’t particularly interested in your birth.  Anyway, Meredith and Mom were in town in anticipation of the big event, and they were in the delivery room with me.  They stayed with us in Baltimore until you were six weeks old, and then they took you back to D.C.”

Neal took a moment to absorb that, and then asked, “Did Henry know?”

“He was only two and a half when you were born,” Noelle said.  “Too young to understand what was going on, and too young to remember.”

“I worried he might be jealous,” Irene added, “of all the attention you were taking away from him, but it was never an issue.  The truth was, with me and the twins, there were plenty of opportunities to dote on both of you.  He seemed quite fascinated with you, actually.  I always thought the two of you bonded during that time.”

“When the Marshals took you away we weren’t supposed to talk about you, so I didn’t mention it when Henry was growing up.  And then when it was apparent Meredith hadn’t told you…  Well, it didn’t seem right to tell anyone until you knew.  Except, I’d made a promise to Meredith.”  Noelle stood up and walked over to the railing where Neal stood, and clasped one of his hands.  “I imagine things have changed over the years, but at that time it was the birth mother’s name that went on the birth certificate.  So I was listed as your mother.  But of course you belonged to James and Meredith.  At the clinic before the procedure I promised that I’d give up all rights to you, and that it would be up to Meredith if and when to tell you about the surrogacy.”

Neal took a moment to gather his thoughts and then said, “Saturday she gave you permission to tell me.”

“Mom had been pushing me for a while now to tell you, and I was working my way up to it.  I’m glad I was released from the promise.  That made it easier.”  She squeezed his hand.  “There is one more piece, however.  There’s something I didn’t know myself until after I talked to Meredith.”

Neal held his breath as Noelle gathered her nerve.

“Go on, then,” said Edmund impatiently. 

Noelle raised a brow.  “This isn’t easy, Dad.”

“Easy.  When is life easy?” Edmund asked.  “It’s simple enough.  The doctors weren’t really sure why Meredith’s pregnancies weren’t successful, while Noelle had smooth sailing carrying Henry.  They thought it might be hormonal, or maybe something to do with an infection she’d had when she was a teenager.”

It flashed through Neal’s mind that they might be worried about something genetic Meredith had passed along.  What if the concern wasn’t about Meredith’s health, but about his own?  Maybe he couldn’t or shouldn’t have kids himself?

Picking up the story again, Noelle said, “To be safe, the doctors took eggs from both of us.  There were two embryos at first, one from one of Meredith’s eggs, and the other from one of mine.  If both had been viable, they both would have been implanted.  But shortly before it was time, one of the embryos died.”

“Which one?” Neal asked.

“We decided we didn’t want to know.  You were going to be Meredith’s son and it shouldn’t make any difference who was the egg donor.  The doctors insisted on putting the information in an envelope that we could open if we ever needed to know.  That envelope went to the Marshals with your birth certificate and other documents.  On Saturday Meredith gave that envelope to me.  That night Mom opened it and…”  Noelle squeezed his hand again.  “You’re mine.”

“Wow,” said Neal.  He hadn’t seen that coming.  He’d been expecting bad news.  This was good.  It was good, wasn’t it?  He turned it around in his head.  Yeah, once he got used to it, he thought it would be good.

“Not that it makes a difference,” Edmund said.  “Meredith was your mother.  She raised you and loved you as her son.  As best she could.”

“But I was certain you and Henry were brothers,” Irene added. 

_Henry_.  “Did you tell him, before the _Executive Decision_ left?”

“It was tempting,” said Noelle, “but I thought you should be told first.  I also think he’ll appreciate the news more once he’s had time to work through the issues he’s facing now.”

“Can I be the one to tell him?” Neal asked.

“If you like.”

“At Christmas,” Irene suggested.  “What better gift to give Henry, than to let him know he has a brother?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After a late lunch, Neal had packed his things and decided he’d go to Peter’s hotel early.  Sitting in the lobby for a while would give him a chance to think things through.  Noelle offered to drive him, saying she needed to go back to Baltimore and the hotel was on her way.  They talked mostly about Henry.

When she pulled in front of the hotel a valet came to her door.  She glanced at Neal.  “Last chance for questions.  Anything you didn’t want to ask in front of my parents?”

Was it the psychologist or the mom in her that had guessed?  “They’ve got a bar.”

Noelle handed her keys to the valet and followed Neal to the bar.  With a long drive in front of her, she ordered a non-alcoholic drink and waited for Neal to kick off the discussion. 

He ordered a glass of wine and after it arrived he looked around the bar.  Mostly empty, but still best not to refer directly to WITSEC in a public setting like this.  “When you learned that we had to leave D.C., there was an argument about whether I should go with Meredith or with my Uncle David.”

“Either way, it broke my heart to see you go.  I so wanted to keep you, but that simply wasn’t an option.  Your father had put you at risk and my role in your birth didn’t change that.  After my promise to Meredith, I was determined to prove I was keeping my side of the bargain.  I insisted that you were hers and belonged with her.”

“You were being stubborn and emotional,” Neal noted.  “I know some people who would describe me the same way.”

“Poor David had no idea why I wasn’t open to any arguments.  He’d been overseas during the pregnancy and we hadn’t told him I acted as a surrogate, much less…”  She shrugged.  “He’d come back around the time of your christening and brought Paige with him.  It was the first time we’d met her, and we confused her horribly.  We introduced Meredith as your mother and yet I was the one nursing –”

“Whoa,” said Neal.  “Not ready to go there yet.  Or maybe ever.  Can we skip that part?”

Noelle smiled indulgently.  “Needless to say, it’s hard enough telling identical twins apart when they aren’t both acting like mothers to the same infant.”

“And David didn’t notice?”

“Normally he would have, but Paige did a marvelous job of distracting and befuddling him.  He’d proposed to her shortly before you were born, and Mom convinced them to get married while we were all gathered in D.C.  Paige’s family made a whirlwind visit for the wedding and dealing with in-laws really threw him for a loop.”

Neal considered the implications.  “Did you ever tell them?”

“No.  Surprisingly few people knew I acted as a surrogate.  I was finishing up my PhD, so people at the university who knew I was pregnant didn’t realize that soon after I graduated the baby simply disappeared.  Once I started to show, I stopped going to Win-Win, at Robert’s request.  He didn’t entirely approve and in the end it was easier not having to explain that the baby wasn’t his.  His parents knew, of course, and his siblings.  I don’t think his brothers approved, either, and that was rather awkward.  I preferred avoiding them, and for a few months I made excuses to skip Win-Win gatherings.  Not only was I busy finishing my degree, but I also made a lot of trips to D.C. to visit my supposedly pregnant sister.”

“Good thing Henry was too young to understand what was going on.  I can imagine all the questions he would have had.”

“You’re right.  We never would have gotten away with keeping things as quiet as we did…”  She looked across the room.  “Aren’t you supposed to meet Peter at 4:00?”

Neal saw Peter and checked his watch.  It was only 2:30.  “That was the plan.”  He waved Peter over.  “Short day?”

Peter sat down and ordered a beer.  “More like a surprising day.  I was debating whether to call and see if you could meet earlier.  There’s a case I’d like to run by you.”

Noelle reached for her purse.  “I should get out of your way, then.”

“No, not yet.”  Peter put a file folder on the table.  “There’s something I need to run by you, too.  A while back, when Neal mentioned how surprised he was that he was born in Baltimore, I decided to get him his original birth certificate.  I thought it would answer some of his questions, but instead it seems to raise more.  You see, I stopped by the Marshals’ office this morning to get a copy of the document.  It’s in here.”  He slid the folder across the table to Noelle.

She opened the folder.  Then she closed it, reached into her purse, and put on reading glasses.  After giving both men a glance meant to suppress any comment on the glasses, she read the birth certificate.  “May I keep it?  I’ve often wished I’d kept a copy.”

“Yeah.”  Peter slid a glance at Neal.  “Do you know what it says?”

“I found out today.  I’m still getting used to it.  It was a shock, to say the least.”

“How…?”  Peter looked uncomfortable and drank some beer to hide his reaction.

“You didn’t know about my torrid affair with my brother-in-law?” Noelle teased.

Peter nearly choked on the beer.

Neal patted him on the back.  “I didn’t tell you Mozzie’s theory that I’m Henry’s clone?”

Noelle stood.  “I should be on my way.  It’s up to you what to tell Peter and who else you think should be told, but do try to keep it quiet until Henry knows.”

Neal stood up, too, and embraced her.  “I think just Peter and El for now,” he said.

“I’ll miss you, sweetheart.  If you have any more questions, or just want to talk, I hope you’ll call.  I promise I won’t hover.”  With a quick kiss on his cheek, Noelle said goodbye and left.

Peter suggested they go up to his room, not only to hear the reason Noelle was listed as Neal’s mother, but also for privacy to talk about the case that he’d mentioned.

The hotel room had a small desk, and Neal sat in the desk chair and put his feet up on the bed while Peter shed his suit jacket and gun holster. 

Pushing Neal’s feet out of the way, Peter sat on the bed.  “No more kidding around.  What’s going on with Noelle and your birth certificate?”

For a moment Neal considered fabricating a wild story to see how long he could keep it spinning before Peter guessed, but he decided against it.  He went straight into the truth.

“Huh,” said Peter.  He stared in the distance a moment and then asked, “Your mom is dating my brother?”

“I’m not really to the point of calling her _Mom_.  My grandfather had a good point.  Meredith’s the one who raised me.  I knew her as my mother all my life.  I love Noelle, but I’m still getting to know her.”

“Right.  But I talked to Joe this weekend.  He and Noelle are dating again, and he seems determined to make things work this time.  Us Burkes don’t give up easily.  I wouldn’t be surprised if this time next year, you’re my nephew.”

“That makes Henry your nephew, too.”  Neal smiled, both at Peter’s consternation and at the idea of having a brother.  The shock was wearing off, and joy replaced it.

“Yeah.  Give me time to get used to the idea of one nephew, first.”

“You can tell Elizabeth about all of this, of course, but don’t let it go any further.  And even if I stop thinking of Meredith as my mother, I can’t go around calling Noelle _Mom_ , not if I’m trying to keep my dad’s enemies from figuring out I was Neal Bennett.”  Neal’s bubble of joy shrank as he considered the implications.  “In fact, we both need to make sure we think and speak of Noelle as my aunt, and Henry as my cousin, so we don’t risk slipping up in public.”  He decided it was time to change the subject.  “You said there was a case?”

“This one is right up your alley,” Peter promised.  “It hasn’t hit the media yet, but we can’t keep it quiet much longer.  Last night someone broke into the National Gallery and stole a painting.”

“Which one?”

“A Raphael.  _St. George and the Dragon_.”

Neal’s eyes widened. 

“When D.C. Art Crimes ran the names of people who’d been in the museum recently, yours popped up.”

A wariness came over Neal.  “I wasn’t casing it, Peter.”

Peter looked surprised.  “Of course not.  But you were there the day before the theft.  Did you notice anyone acting suspiciously?  Or see anything that would give us a clue to how they got in and out without setting off the alarms?”

How far had they come that Peter instantly dismissed the idea that Neal had stolen the painting?  Neal felt a glow of pride, even as he admitted, “I got too distracted wondering about the big secret my family was keeping from me, and I didn’t pay as much attention as I normally would have.  However…”  He paused as he considered how best to explain what he knew.  “Hypothetically…”

Peter groaned.

“When I gave my confession for immunity, we only talked about crimes I had committed.  We didn’t cover the ones I had planned.  If you hadn’t recruited me, I was going to make a forgery of that painting and steal the original.”  He shrugged.  “It was Kate’s favorite.”

“And you were desperate to get in contact with Kate.  Did you already know how you were going to get it out of the museum?”

“There was a security guard with a gambling problem who was willing to share information for a price.  He was going to provide the building plans and tell us the exact time when they were going to shut down the security system for an hour to upgrade the software to the newest version.  They were adding extra guards for that evening, and I was going to slip in as one of those guards.”

Peter took a sharp breath.  “What’s the name of the security guard?”

“I don’t know.  I wasn’t working that angle.”  He grinned.  “Remember how you said you didn’t want to use Mozzie for any more cases?”

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but give him a call.  The Bureau can probably discover which guard has a habit of gambling, but if Mozzie can tell us it saves time and impresses my old mentor.  I started out as a probie on Philip Kramer’s team, and they’re working this case.  I want him to see the value you bring to my team.  It could be good for your career with the FBI down the road.”

“Can we visit the crime scene?” Neal asked.  “My experience on the other side of the law could come in handy.”

“I’m sure it would.  I’ll ask.”  There was a pause and then Peter added, “This is when you’re supposed to be calling Mozzie.”

“Oh, sorry, got distracted a moment.”  Neal gestured around the room.  “I was just thinking, this all started in a hotel room.  You kicked off a conversation about how I should give up crime and work for you when we were in that hotel in St. Louis.”

“You were supposed to be part of a museum heist, and instead you helped me prevent it.”  Peter smiled.  “Do you remember talking to El on the phone when we were there?  You were running a pretty high fever so I wasn’t sure if you knew what you were saying.”

“I think I remember most of it.”

“When I talked to her later, she told me that you trusted me to find the real you, the person hidden under the slick con man veneer.”

Neal nodded.  “Yeah, it was something about how FBI agents find people, and how I’d hidden who I was so deeply that I thought I needed help finding myself.  I wanted to find the real me but was also scared of being found.”

“Here you are.  Valued member of my team.  Soon-to-be college student.  Henry’s half-brother.  Probably going to be my nephew.  Not too scary after all.”

“Not too scary,” Neal agreed.  “Good job, Agent Burke.  Now how about we find that thief?”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On Friday August 13, Peter’s management meetings finished by noon, and he picked up a sandwich to eat on the train to New York.  He still couldn’t believe that Philip Kramer had denied both Peter and Neal access to the crime scene. 

Sure, the case belonged to the D.C. team and they knew their jobs, but Neal had provided important information.  What was the harm in letting them look around?  He hadn’t remembered Phil as being so concerned about protecting his turf. 

Yesterday when Tricia updated Peter on the team and their cases, she mentioned that Neal planned to leave early this afternoon.  He’d put in overtime the last few days, and she’d approved the request for comp time.  She hadn’t asked what he had planned.

On the off chance of catching him, Peter went directly to Riverside Drive from the train station.  He got there in time to see a somber Neal escort June into the mansion. 

Well, at least he was home.  Peter rang the bell and Neal got to the door ahead of the maid.  “Peter, this is a surprise.  Come in.”

“I won’t stay if this is a bad time,” Peter said.

“No, it’s fine.  Today is June and Byron’s wedding anniversary.  We went to the cemetery to leave a bouquet of the flowers he used to give June.  Now she wants to be alone for a while.  You can come up to my loft if you want.”

Peter pushed his suitcase out of the way and then followed Neal upstairs. 

“Beer?” Neal asked as they walked into the loft.  “I picked up your favorite brand.”

“Yeah, I’ll take one.”  Peter took a seat at the dining table and looked around the room.  There was a stuffed animal on the bookshelves – a brown dog.  That was new.  And some kind of ornate wooden box that normally sat on the shelves was instead on the coffee table.  “How’s June?”

“A little low today, but better than she was doing after Father’s Day.”  Neal handed Peter a bottle of beer and sat down with a glass of wine.  “Did you know she’s been buying up shares of Masterson Music?”

“No.  I guess the stock is a bargain right now.”

“That’s right.  She has enough now that she has a seat on the board, and she’s influencing their reorganization.  It’s a project she can put her heart into, and I think that’s helping her cope with losing Byron.  I introduced her to Samantha Weston and Cassie Blanca this week.  They described their experiences with Masterson, and that seems to have inspired all sorts of schemes.  June’s working to get their musical careers back on track while planning how to help out others who were harmed by the company’s business practices.”

“A happy ending,” Peter said.  “You deserve a lot of the credit for that.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Neal said.  “You and the Bureau brought the sting together.”

“Not calling it a _con_ anymore.”

“Nope.  My cons didn’t end in people being arrested.”

“Now that the sting is over, you don’t be using that Neal Legend ID,” Peter said. 

“Right.  You want me to turn over the ID.”  Neal started to stand.

“No, keep it,” Peter said.

“Are you serious?”

“I thought it might help control your flight instinct, if you knew you still had that ID as a means to escape.  It’s in our systems now, so you can’t use it to escape the FBI, but we did a decent job of making people think Neal Legend was a distant cousin and not the son of James Bennett.  If you ever need to hide out from your father’s enemies or from Vincent Adler for a few days, the Legend ID should work.”

“Just for a few days?”

“Yeah.  I’d track the ID if you used it and find a way to help you out.  I just thought, given the resources they have, it seemed only fair for you to keep a trick up your sleeve.”

“Thanks, Peter.”

“The other reason I stopped by was to apologize again.  I still can’t believe Kramer shut us out of the case after you provided that lead.  You pointed out an important hole in the museum’s security.”

“Nothing in the news about finding the painting or the thief yet,” Neal noted.

“Unfortunately the guard Mozzie named isn’t with the museum anymore.  We’re still in the dark about the thief’s identity and how he managed the crime.  But we’ll get him.” 

“You mean Kramer will get him.”

“The Bureau will.  We’re all a team.  Except when we’re in a turf war.”  Peter gestured toward the coffee table.  “Is there a story behind the box?”

Neal explained that Byron had used it to keep a record of his milestones and successes as he gave up a life of crime.  “He thought I could use something similar, so he left it to me.  Instead of scraps of paper, I’ve been creating origami to represent the things I want to remember.”  He walked over and picked up a nearly complete origami dog in brown paper.  “This is the one I’m adding next.”

“Any relation to the stuffed animal on your shelves?” Peter asked.

“Good eye.  Yeah.  Meredith gave it to Noelle when they talked.  It’s the only memento I have from my childhood.”

“What’s the memory you’re adding to the box?”

“Finding out who I really am, and being OK with it.”

**WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Wednesday, August 18, Peter was standing in front of the team in the large conference room as he led the morning briefing.  “The last item on our agenda is Tuesday Tails.  Yesterday was Diana’s first chance to participate, and things went somewhat differently this time.  At Neal’s request, I lifted the ban on going more than two miles from the office.”  Seeing Neal’s grin he added, “That was a one-time exception for this week only.  Diana, give us the readout.”

“It wasn’t like Quantico,” Diana said.  “And I doubt most suspects would stop and wave at me or sit beside me on the subway.”

Neal shrugged.  “Peter told me to go easy on you the first time.  Next time the training wheels come off.”

“Bring it,” Diana challenged.  “And I didn’t need training wheels this time.”

Team members laughed and called out support for Diana or bets that she’d regret her rash words.  Peter smiled in satisfaction.  It was good to see the team rallying around the newest member.  “And once you got off the subway?” he prompted.

“Soon we were in the middle of a college campus.  Neal melted into a group of students, but since it’s still summer those weren’t big groups, and most of them weren’t wearing suits.”

“But you at least ditched the hat?” Jones asked. 

“I didn’t want to make it too easy,” Neal confirmed.

“Quiet,” Tricia said.  “Let Diana finish.”

“We went through a student center and an administrative building and then into an academic building where I saw Neal go into an office and talk to someone.  He almost lost me leaving that building.  He slipped down a corridor that led to a series of other corridors, and checking each one would have taken so long I’d have lost him for sure.  I decided my best bet was to go back outside and watch the exits.  I guessed right.  Soon he slipped out the back and I was following him again.”

“Nice work,” said Travis.  “I fell into the trap of checking endless corridors once.”

Diana acknowledged the compliment with a nod.  “We dodged around buildings for a while.  Must have been about 15 minutes later that I spotted Neal heading into a building called Watson Hall.  Unfortunately the place was a mass of small rooms – they looked like art studios – and that’s ultimately where I lost Neal.  I’d been hanging back so not to be obvious where I was, and that gave him too much of a head start.  I was about to give up when he found me.  Our hour was over, and we came back here.”

“By way of a bistro,” Neal added.  “Never let it be said I caused our newbie to starve.”

“Any suggestions for Diana for next time?” Peter asked.

Team members asked questions about the exterior and layout of Watson Hall and then offered advice for how she might have kept up with Neal.  Peter was glad Diana had been matter of fact about losing Neal and that she wasn’t disheartened by the experience.  She was listening to the suggestions from the team and it seemed like she looked forward to her next round of Tuesday Tails.  All indications were pointing to Diana being a good fit for the team, and an example of the kind of attitude he wanted to foster.

Then Jones asked the question Peter had been waiting for.  “Why ask for the exception to the two-mile limit?  There are plenty of places closer to the office where Neal could have pulled the same tricks.”

“Yes, Neal.”  Peter smiled.  “It’s about time you disclosed the significance of leading Diana to Columbia.”

“Starting in the fall semester, I’m going to be heading to Columbia after work several evenings each week,” Neal said.  “I’m enrolled in a dual master’s in art history and visual arts, and Watson is one of the places where I’ll spend a lot of my time on campus.”

Applause and whistles followed the announcement.  The morning briefing lasted half an hour longer than usual as team members plied Neal with questions about the degree program and offered advice for juggling the job and school.  It was a welcome contrast to the situation a couple of months ago.  Back then Neal had been stressing about how he’d pay for the degree and unwilling to share the news that he’d been accepted by a prestigious university.  Urban Legend had still been a secret and Neal thought he had to stop Masterson Music by himself to prove that he belonged in the team. 

Of course Neal still had secrets.  That was part of his nature Peter was learning to accept.  But meanwhile Neal was learning to trust people more, and was putting down roots. 

As Peter looked approvingly at the team interacting with Neal, Hughes walked by and beckoned Peter out into the hall.  “Looks like the shouts I heard weren’t a matter for concern.”

“They were congratulating Neal on his acceptance into Columbia.  He finally told the team.” 

“I’m glad he was able to swing the tuition after the Bureau didn’t come through for him,” Hughes said. 

“He got a full scholarship.”  Peter decided to add the comment he’d almost made after his own midyear review.  “Thanks for supporting me back in December when I came to you out of the blue with a request to recruit a suspected felon as a consultant.  I know it was a big risk.”

“Hard to argue with success.”  The conference room had grown quiet as people noticed Hughes observing through the glass wall.  He stepped inside and extended a hand to Neal.  “Congratulations, Caffrey.  I know how much this means to you.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, shaking Hughes’ hand.

“My only concern is D.C. Art Crimes will try to recruit you away once you have those credentials.” 

Neal looked around the room at the team.  “Nah.  I’m happy here.  New York is home.”

Later, back at his desk, Peter tried to imagine an older version of Neal, with the master’s degrees and a few years’ experience at the FBI.  What would that be like?  Hughes had been joking, but would other team leads get over their skittishness about Neal’s criminal past and try to recruit him away?  If they did, Peter told himself he should be happy for Neal’s success, and not feel like he was losing his son.

Neal knocked on his door.  “Got a minute?”

Peter waved him inside.  “What’s on your mind?”

Neal closed the door and sat down.  “Father’s Day.”

“That’s about ten months away.”

“Funny.  No, I mean this past Father’s Day.  Before we got busy with tracking down Robert and the Masterson sting, I’d planned to request a do-over.”

“Why?”

“I got too much inside my own head after seeing that video of me as a kid.  That kinda zapped the fun out of everything at the end, and after I went home I regretted it.  Anyway, there’s a Yankees game this weekend.  You wanna go?”

Peter stopped trying to envision an older Neal.  He needed to take the time to enjoy this Neal, the one who looked up to him as a father figure and a trusted friend.  “Let’s do it.  Just you and me this time.  El has an event scheduled for Saturday.”

“I’ll pick up the tickets.”  Neal stood up and was reaching for the door when he turned around.  “You know what would be perfect?  We should go to a day game on a Tuesday.”

“No, we aren’t playing Tuesday Tails in Yankee Stadium,” Peter insisted.

Neal chuckled as he left.  Peter supposed he should be worried what the kid would do next, but he couldn’t help smiling.  He realized he smiled often at work these days, especially compared to other team leads.

At home that night Peter told El about the way Neal made the announcement he was enrolled in Columbia, about the invitation to the Yankees game, and about the revelation he’d experienced in his office after Neal had left. “Neal brings a lot to the table.  His skills have helped solve cases and have made our team experts in tailing suspects.  All of that went into his appraisal.  But there’s one thing I can’t include because management would think I was insane if I said it.  White Collar is more _fun_ with Neal around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter contains several references to past stories or previous chapters, including:  
> Caffrey Conversation included the scenes in St. Louis, including the phone call between Neal and El.  
> Caffrey Envoy mentioned David being late for Neal’s christening, and also covered the option of sending Neal with David instead of Meredith.  
> Caffrey Flashback described Neal’s abduction by Vance, and also included Noelle’s description of how she and her twin reacted to fear. At the end of that story Neal receives Byron’s box.  
> Chapter 2 of this story covered Father’s Day.  
> Chapter 24 of this story covered little Henry giving Neal the stuffed animal.
> 
> I like to think that the married version of Ellen Parker we see in this chapter isn’t destined to the same fate she met in canon.
> 
> As always, Silbrith had great suggestions as she endured multiple rounds of edits. As location scout, she found the Carlyle Club. Describing Meredith as encased in ice was also a comment from Silbrith that I decided needed to be included. 
> 
> If you’re reading this AU in order, then the next story after this one is The Golden Hen by Silbrith, set at the end of August, 2004. 
> 
> It was exactly a year ago – over Thanksgiving vacation 2014 – that I outlined Caffrey Disclosure. I’ll post a pin of that outline on the Caffrey Disclosure Pinterest board, and will be resorting the pins over the next few days to put the chapters in order from 1 – 44. And now over Thanksgiving 2015 I prepare to outline my next story in the AU: Caffrey Aloha. That story will bring together the Caffrey and Burke families for the wedding of Noelle Winslow to Joe Burke in Hawaii. The story will be set in late December 2004 through early January 2005, and will also feature a canon thief planning a jewel heist. I’ll start posting Aloha around the end of this year.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for your supportive comments over the last year. You’ve made the writing process even more pleasurable!


End file.
